Done That
by Pied Piper
Summary: Women, fame, and money. Things normal guys would enjoy. But Taichi, Takeru, Jyou, and Yamato, four frustrated, desperate, clueless, and indecisive young men, are just about ready to throw in the chips.
1. Chapter 1: Takeru

**Done That**

* * *

Women, fame, and money. Things normal guys would enjoy. But Taichi, Takeru, Jyou and Yamato, four frustrated, desperate, clueless, and indecisive young men, are just about ready to throw in the chips. AU. Sequel to 'Been There.' 

**Disclaimer**: I don't own.

**Author's Note**: Yes, I made a sequel. Yes, it will be modeled after "Been There". No, it is not the same story. Yes, I plan on finishing. Sorry if this first chapter's a little short, but it'll develop more as I get going. Hopefully.

* * *

Brace yourself: 

It's been two months, six days, and thirteen hours since my last date.

That can't be a good sign, can it?

I mean, I'm attractive, right? Isn't the blue-eyed-blonde look in these days? And I'm pretty decent. I've got a great-paying job, a personality I'm told is quite charismatic, money in the bank, skills in more than just writing, and I know a thing or two about romance. I mean, I've had my share of good relationships. They just have a knack for ending….

But why the hell should this dating thing be _this_ difficult?

And it doesn't help any that Ken's getting married in five weeks.

Of course, I'm _very_ happy for the two of them. I mean, I can't think of another couple who deserve each other more than Miyako and Ken. Their names are practically synonymous. And sure, they've had their rough moments, like that fiasco last year that almost ruined it all. But they pulled through and we all knew they would, more in love now than they ever have been before. So none of us were at all surprised when he finally proposed and she finally said yes (more like wailed, according to the stories). So I'm happy for them.

Thrilled.

Exuberant.

Ecstatic.

Really, I am.

Deep down _somewhere_.

But seriously, I'm twenty-eight this year and I'm still waiting for that fireworks kiss, the true love match-made-in-heaven with my one and only soul mate that everyone else seems to have but me. What am I, cursed?

I'm getting restless. Call me crazy, but I'm old enough to know there's something I'm missing.

I want what Ken has. I want what Daisuke has. I want what Taichi has.

Speaking of which….

Leaping from the airport lounge chairs, I wave my hand wildly, pushing through the in-coming crowd to reach him. He's dressed in black, his classy business outfit completed with dark shades that he quickly pulls up when he catches sight of me. He grins, smirking like he always does, totally suave.

That's the thing about Taichi. He's got this kind of appeal that turns heads, even if he may not be the best-looking in the bunch. It's just his character, the way he is. It's no joke that he's still considered the most eligible and desired single man in Tokyo, despite the fact that he's been in a serious relationship for more than a year now.

It's actually kind of weird to think about it. No one in their right mind would ever have expected _Taichi_ of all people to commit to anything. (His own parents have trouble accepting it.)

In fact, I'm not really sure what he thinks about his present situation. That is, we all know he's crazy about Mimi, and he has been for years, but he was always rather attached to his bachelor status. (So is the rest of Japan, whose tabloids, in a desperate attempt to deny reality, keep printing stories of his failed relationship. It's rather shocking how they treat Mimi in those tabloids, but thankfully, they're both far away in London and pleasantly ignorant of the less-than-truthful tales.)

Nevertheless the two of them managed to take the rest of by surprise by finally hooking up in New York last year. Okay, don't be fooled. It was not as easy as I made it sound. In fact, it was a little mini-drama unto itself, now that I think about it. At least, it had way more drama than any of my past relationships have. Or in my entire life, for that matter….

But anyway, to sum it all up, the two of them had basically been hopping around each other for weeks while Lady Fate shoved them together on her own questionable terms. Then Taichi panicked when he almost lost her, and in self-defense, cut off all ties to any of us and just ran for it. That wasn't like him at all, but he'd been going through more stuff than even we realized, and when push came to shove, he just couldn't handle knowing he'd let her down anymore. If there's one thing you should know about Tai is that he can't stand failure, especially when it's his fault, or when he thinks it's his fault, and especially when it involves the people he cares about most. So he had to get away by himself for a while.

Unfortunately for him, the rest of us weren't going to let him abandon us like that, not when there was still a chance for him to change. So Mimi went right on after him, eventually tracked him down, and the two gave in and attempted to slowly patch things up. Finally, they took us all by surprise again by announcing their move to London (much to his parents' pleasure and her parents' horror, but that's a whole 'nother story), where Taichi works now, and they've been together there ever since.

That's my version of the story, obviously. If you want the details, ask the girls. Women have a tendency to over-exaggerate the unnecessary, though, so don't say I didn't warn you if you do decide to hear the tale from their point-of-view.

But though we're all really pleased, it has been kind of boring without the two headstrong personalities around, so it's times like these that we look forward to. Actually, a lot of us have been getting more involved in our separate lives lately, so it's always nice to have big get-togethers once in a while. It keeps me sane, at least.

"Hey, Takeru," he greets, clapping me on the shoulder as a manly, brotherly sign of greeting.

I shrug him off, pretending to be offended. "I haven't seen you in over half a year and that's all you've got to say to me?"

He rolls his eyes. "When you've got a woman like Mimi to come home to, your ability to initiate an extended conversation decreases dramatically."

I peer over his shoulder curiously, suddenly realizing why it's still so quiet. "Didn't she come with you?"

He shakes his head.

"At the last minute, she had a few glitches to settle with her new restaurant. She's taking a later flight, said she'll be here tomorrow. And she complains that _I_ care too much about _my_ work…."

I smile. "You are the worst workaholic I know."

"I'm getting better," he insists.

"Thanks to Mimi," I add.

He throws me a look. "Sure."

I frown. "Is something wrong?"

"No," he replies too quickly.

I cross my arms over my chest, waiting expectantly.

He sighs loudly to show his irritation. "Everything's fine, Takeru."

I grin in spite of myself.

"What was it about this time?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he grumbles, walking away.

"Yeah, well, lucky for you, I do."

"_Takeru_—,"

"Taichi, you flew _alone_ across the globe for a wedding where _she's_ bridesmaid and you're her guest. You can't expect me to not read into that."

"Yes, I can," he snaps darkly. He shifts his small carrying bag over his shoulder causally. "Now shut up and let's get out of here."

I shrug. "Fine."

It's a few minutes of silence as we leave the airport and I hail a cab to take us back to my apartment. It's closer to Ken and Miyako's and the engaged couple is hosting a dinner that night, so it just made sense to have Taichi stay with me for a few nights. Of course, I'd originally planned to have Mimi come with him, but I guess it's just going to be us guys for one night. More room, at least. There, I found one benefit for being a lonely single. Not really comforting, but still a benefit.

In fact, my apartment has turned into a free hotel for other single guys. (I'd say a bachelor pad, but I'm no where near as rich enough to afford all the expensive crap typical bachelor pads require.) Iori and Yamato are both crashing there right now as well.

Iori, I understand.

Yamato, I do not.

His debut in America last year did wonders to his success. He's been asked back to open for a few other well-known artists, which will definitely help his popularity. Still, he insists on staying with me during the pre-wedding planning. He says he wants to bond as siblings. I think he's being a cheap bastard. But at least Taichi and Iori will be there to keep Yamato from turning uber-protective on me, the way he used to get when he visited me in college. God, that was embarrassing….

Anyway, we ride to the apartment in virtual silence as Taichi checks his mail and handles business on his laptop. He's still immersed in it when we reach the flat, with me dragging most of his luggage since he's too engrossed in his work to even realize where he is. That will never change about him, I guess. He always was one of those obsessive types, especially when he's in charge. It's like a drug for him, being the boss of something. I can't really relate.

Iori opens the door for us. He looks tired. He's been working on his dissertation for the past year, and though he's made more progress than his peers, it's taken a lot of dedication and time. On the other hand, the fact that he's ahead makes it easier for him to slow down a little and help out for Ken's wedding, something the groom is rather grateful for.

Iori greets Taichi warmly, though the latter sort of just grunts a hello and blindly staggers into the living room, his eyes glued to his laptop screen.

Yamato tries a more direct approach. He leans over from the couch where he's seated and gives Taichi a friendly punch in the shoulder.

"Hey, Yagami. You there at all?"

Taichi barely reacts.

With a sigh, Yamato shuts the laptop. Taichi almost drops it out of shock.

"What the hell are you doing?" he exclaims, horrified, trying to reboot.

My brother goes on coolly. He's one of the only people I know who can handle an enraged Taichi so well it should be an art form.

"You know, I really think we should start hanging out like we used to. We've all been really busy with our own separate lives, but I think it's time we get back to the basics."

Taichi's looking at him like he's sprouted two heads. "Are you fucking kidding me? I don't have time for sentimentalities!"

"Ken and Miyako are getting married, you idiot. Nothing else matters but your friends right now, remember?"

"I'm not saying they don't matter, but it's not like they're getting married right this _minute_. Jesus, why the hell are people making such a big deal about this? They've been together all their lives! So now it's legal! Well, fine, it's their choice! Why should it matter to the rest of us?" He snatched his laptop and stood up, fuming as he stalks to the bathroom, muttering tensely about people ruining perfectly good things for the rest of us and when in the hell did things have to get so complicated so fast?

I break the silence.

"Well, that explains why he came alone…."

Yamato gives a start, as though he's only just realized it. He looks a little guilty. "Why, you think they fought?"

I roll my eyes.

"It's Mimi and Taichi. If they're not fighting, they're trying to manipulate each other, and if they're not being sweet to take advantage of each other, then they're fighting."

Iori grins. "So she's giving him commitment pressures? _Quelle horreur_."

"Wouldn't want to be him."

"When is she coming then?" Yamato asks.

I shrug.

"Taichi said tomorrow. She's taking a later flight, apparently, but I was going to give her a call anyway, after a while. Time difference, you know."

"Right."

"Maybe she called Miyako already," Iori suggests.

"Possible." Yamato nods. "Miyako's going to be pissed if she doesn't."

"And you'd have to be suicidal to get on a bride-to-be's wrong side," I observe wisely.

The three of us exchange grins, snickering, remembering The Wedding Dress Fiasco which made The Bridal Shop Catastrophe of last year look like—well, it was much worse. Weddings do terrible things to a woman's mind. I'm convinced. Thankfully, I wasn't there, but Takenouchi Sora, who designed the dress, was so bent out of shape that she spent a week at the spa to get over it and keep a cool head before coming back to work.

I myself got an earful about the situation from Hikari, who called afterwards to rant. To _rant_, mind you, and this is _Yagami Hikari_ we're talking about. She's the picture perfect alter ego for her hotheaded older brother, with patience and grace like you wouldn't believe. To get her all riled up enough to _rant_ takes some incredible skill. I, for one, was impressed, although I know better than to tell her things like that and inadvertently make myself the target of her irritation.

But of course, you shouldn't think that Hikari's one of those girls who's all sweet on the outside but full of bottled up emotions on the inside. She's not. Granted, she has her moments, but though she often makes mistakes and keeps things inside when she shouldn't, it's usually just to protect her friends, not save her reputation. But she's getting much better at that, especially after The Daisuke Incident.

Okay, so it wasn't much of an _incident_, but it certainly created its own share of problems. You see, Hikari had been harboring a romantic interest in an old flame, our good ol' idiotic Motomiya Daisuke, for ages, but she never got the guts to tell him until it was too late. To make a long soap opera-ish story short, she faced him once and for all and found she was ready to let it—and him—go completely. And she did. We were all really proud of her. Now she and Daisuke are much better friends, which makes it the almost fairy-tale ending that it could have been if he hadn't found his already with another girl.

Actually, Daisuke was the first of us to get married. It was nothing compared to what Ken and Miyako (more Miyako) have in mind, but it was nice and simple and so long ago that it's hard to believe he's coming up on his first anniversary in a couple of months.

Naturally, this all just makes me feel worse.

If I don't find a date to Miyako and Ken's wedding, that's fine, but I'd better get one for Daisuke and Sumiko's anniversary, or I'll have to have myself shot.

So that gives me, what, five months? Four? I'd better find out. Time is money, after all.

All right, the game is on. I can do this. Just watch me.

"Takeru!" Yamato practically shouts.

I look up, dazed. "Huh?"

"What's gotten into you lately? It takes forever to get your attention these days," he grumbles.

I'm annoyed. See what I mean about the whole older brother mentality he gets when we're in the same room? I'm not a kid anymore. I can handle myself. Ihate how he can't see that. Even Taichi gives Hikari a break now and then. Okay, not the greatest example, but seriously. It's frustrating how he still treats me like I'm five-years-old sometimes. Maybe I'm exagerrating, but you never had him for a brother, so you wouldn't understand.

"Well, it's not like we're as close as we used to be," I snap unnecessarily, knowing I'm probably making a big deal out of nothing. But I'm standing for this anymore. If I'm going to be serious about finding my one true soul mate, than I should be serious about other important things as well. Yamato, for his part, just stares at me in surprise, not expecting me to snap at him like that. I just keep going: "I'm sorry if I changed when you weren't looking—,"

"Hey, guys, come on," Iori interrupts quickly, warily eyeing the squabbling siblings before him. "One crisis at a time, please." He goes over and raps on the bathroom door, from behind which you can hear the click-click of the keyboard and the mutterings of what sounds to be a business call. "Tai?"

He screams a curse.

"_Wait your goddamn turn_!"

Ah, it's good to have him back.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2: Jyou

**Done That**

* * *

Women, fame, and money. Things normal guys would enjoy. But Taichi, Takeru, Jyou and Yamato, four frustrated, desperate, clueless, and indecisive young men, are just about ready to throw in the chips. AU Sequel to 'Been There.'

**Disclaimer**: I don't own.

* * *

How I get suckered into these things, I'll never know.

I'm standing on a small footstool in the girls' flat, my arms out like a scarecrow, draped in a floral printed cloth while Takenouchi Sora busies herself making notes, adjustments, designs, and poking me still when I start to fidget.

And to make it all worse, my glasses keep slipping.

"Sor—,"

"Silence!"

I shut up.

My glasses are teetering off the edge of my nose. I wiggle them back in place desperately—or try to. When they slide even lower, I instinctively lean forward after them. Sora slaps her pen on my knee.

"Jyou!"

"But—,"

"Just one more minute and I promise we can leave!" she interrupts heatedly, tugging at my left sleeve as she re-folds the creases she'd made earlier.

Praying to God that gravity will be on my side this time, I lift my chin and shut my eyes, hoping it'll be over soon. And just when I think I can last, the inevitable strikes:

My glasses clatter to the floor, the right lens cracking.

I stare at them numbly, sadly.

There goes the fifth pair this year.

Sora picks them up and hands them to me crossly.

"If they were falling, you should have told me."

I can't tell if that means I have permission to lower my arms and take my spectacles back, so I hesitate and reply to her remark instead. "I tried to tell you."

She softens at once.

"Oh." Then she sighs. "Oh, Jyou, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so difficult. You were doing me a favor and I had no right to treat you like that after you were willing to help me out. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," I assure.

She smiles. "You can get down now."

I don't bother to hide my immense relief.

"Thanks."

"Do we have time to get it fixed?" she asks, gesturing to the cracked lens.

I inspect it carefully. "Even if we did, nothing's going to be open during the holidays."

"That's right." Here she pauses. "Wait…aren't we supposed to be somewhere for the holidays…?"

We stare at each other blankly.

And then our eyes widen and we gasp in unison, "_Miyako's party_!"

"_Crap_!" Sora cries, flying back to her desk and flinging all her work into the drawers. She scrambles to organize her portfolios while I jump off the stool and struggle with the makeshift dress she'd had me in for the past hour.

"Um, help—?" I call, confused, not wanting to tear all of her hard work.

She curses again and rushes back over to me.

"Thanks again for all of this, Jyou," she mumbles, rambling out of panic. "Not a lot of guys would do this on such short notice, but the other girls were busy because of the party, which I can't believe I totally forgot! And now I'm making both of late…. Oh, God, Miyako's going to have our heads on a stick and serve us for appetizers!"

"I wouldn't stress too much about that," I mutter, finally free. "I'm sure they're well past appetizers now."

Sora grins in spite of herself.

I glance at the clock on the wall. "Well, we missed the dinner, but I bet we can make it to the cocktail party."

"Hopefully. We just need to get there in time for the countdown."

"Then that gives us…forty minutes."

"After you."

And so the race begins.

God must really hate me today, because every taxi I try to hail for us won't stop, until I start yelling at them (which makes them want to stop even less). Finally, Sora steps in front of me, flicks her hair over her shoulders, bats her eyelashes, and cries in an unnaturally feminine voice, "Oh, taxi!"

Immediately, one slams its brakes by our side.

I stare at her in bewilderment.

Sora shrugs. "The perks of being a woman are endless, Jyou, trust me."

Smiling, I pile in after her, hastily instructing the driver to take us as fast as he can to Miyako and Ken's address. Within fifteen minutes, we reach our destination, and I tip the man for being helpful, though the way he keeps glancing at Sora disgusts me, but I don't say anything. There may be countless perks of being a woman, but being a man must make you a total idiot around those same perks….

It's rather embarrassing, really.

Anyway, we take the elevator shaft up to the fifth floor, cross the hallway, and ring the doorbell.

I can hear voices on the other side, laugher and much chatter. I glance at Sora, who winces a little. Hopefully, Miyako won't get too mad. With any luck, she'll have drunk enough wine to not care too much. Then again, with _my_ luck, that won't happen.

The door suddenly flings open.

Miyako, wearing a simple black dress, grins up at the two of us, swaying a little as she clutches a champagne glass in her trembling hand. She beams.

"_Ken, sweetie_!" she screams into the living room. "_It's not Daisuke_!" She downs the rest of her glass. "_Where the hell is he_?"

Materializing out of no where, Ken takes his fiancée by the arm and drags her from the door, throwing us an apologetic look. We stand confused at the doorway, trying to put the pieces together, wondering if we're off the hook for being late—thank you, God, for Daisuke and his idiocy!

And then Yagami Hikari comes to fetch us inside, linking arms with Sora. Her mouse brown hair has been pulled up into a twisted bun, and she looks lovely in her sea green skirt and white blouse. I'm about to tell her as much, but am interrupted when Ishida Yamato takes me by the arm and pulls me away. He leads me over to the couch where Izumi Koushiro and Hida Iori are sitting.

"Trust me," Yamato says, "you don't want to get involved."

I frown. "What happened?"

Koushiro takes a sip from his wine. "Sumiko didn't even come; she called earlier to tell Miyako that she and Daisuke were going be busy elsewhere."

"'Elsewhere'?" I repeat in shock.

He nods.

I flinch. "Ouch."

"Yeah, so Miyako's been freaking out, something to do with what Daisuke might pull at her wedding—you know, being Ken's best man and everything."

"Right."

"Only no one has any idea where Daisuke is."

Yamato smiles. "At times like these, I don't feel bad for being single and unattached….."

"I'll drink to that," a new voice interrupts, and we see Takaishi Takeru sulking his way over to us. He flops down on the couch next to Iori.

"What's wrong with you?" I ask.

"Nothing. Just trying to think optimistically."

Yamato leans in to whisper to me, "He's going through a super early mid-life crisis. Thinks he's going to die alone or something."

"Oh." I push my glasses to my nose. "Well, statistically speaking, Takeru, that's virtually impossible, unless you were an ostracized member of one of those tribes in Niger where they throw the sick bodies of unwanted people into the forests to rot above ground without any comfort or dignity."

Koushiro chokes on his drink, laughing.

Yamato grins, though he tries to hide it. "Why, Mr. Kido, I do believe you're developing quite the sense of humor, there."

"Yeah, you're a riot," Takeru shoots back darkly, sinking even lower into the sofa.

Though amused, I feel compelled to apologize to him, and I'm about to when the door is suddenly thrown open again and everyone freezes.

Daisuke's a total wreck.

His hair is wet and sticking to his skin; his eyes are bloodshot and narrowed in extreme irritation; his clothes are torn and dirty; he's got a scratch mark on his cheek that's still bleeding; and his shoes—well, one of them is missing. He's holding a fat suitcase that has a pair of boxers peeking out of the top, and he's also got a laptop case and what I can only assume is a blender clutched in his other arm, the cord dragging on the ground behind him.

Without a word, he stomps past us and into Miyako and Ken's guest bedroom.

The rest of us stare at each other, while Sora does her best to keep Miyako away from any more alcoholic beverages, handing her a fresh cup of coffee instead.

"Well—," Yamato starts to say, but is cut off when the door opens again.

This time, the shock is much less…shocking. It's Tachikawa Mimi and our old American friend Michael, who's holding a beautiful bouquet of red and white roses, which he promptly hands to the bride-to-be. She melts from the gestures, cooing, and jumping out of her drunken daze to kiss him on the cheek.

"That's so sweet of you!" she says, smelling the flowers. (We all keep a mental check of what to bring with us the next time Miyako's on the verge of a nervous breakdown.)

Michael flashes her one of his signature, charming grins and all the girls immediately break into giggles.

"Damn," Takeru hisses behind me. "How does he do that?"

"I think it has to do with his being a foreigner," Iori whispers back.

"You think so?"

Yamato rolls his eyes. He walks over to Michael and shakes his hand in greeting. "Glad you could make it." He smiles at Mimi. "You, too, Mi."

She laughs and brings herself up on tip-toe to kiss him on the cheek. "If only you could get shorter," she complains. He only grins back.

I'm really glad their relationship is much better now. Though they used to be pretty serious, we all thought something might blow when, after they'd separated, Mimi and Taichi hooked up. But it wasn't anything to do with jealousy or backstabbing—they both understood their feelings and how they'd changed, and I think they're the better friends for it. There's absolutely nothing one wouldn't do for the other, and that's worth more than any relationship they could have pursued.

She glances around the room casually, but doesn't say anything.

Sora comes up to give her a hug. "Takeru said you weren't coming until tomorrow."

"That was the plan," Mimi admits, but Michael interrupts her:

"But then I found her at the airport getting into a nasty fight with the ticket agent, so to avoid any legal complications I offered her to come along with me."

"Are you staying in Tokyo long?" Hikari asks.

He nods. "Sort of. My father and I are in town for some business for his agency, but I might go back earlier."

"No, no, you should stay!" Miyako insists, still a little woozy. "Come to my wedding!"

"Of course, I'll come for that, no matter what happens," Michael promises. "Wouldn't miss you in that dress for the world."

Miyako blushes and Takeru is positively beside himself. "How the hell does he _do_ that?" he demands of Koushiro, who holds up his hands in mock surrender, preferring not to get involved.

That's when Ken and Daisuke come back inside, the latter nursing a bruise on his jaw with a cold washcloth. But he's all smiles when he sees Michael.

"Hey, long time no see, buddy!" he greets cheerily.

Michael politely ignores the shabby state his young friend is in and shakes his hand instead. "Good to see you too, Daisuke. How are things holding up for you?"

"Oh, it's great. Peachy. Absolutely peachy," Daisuke ends in a fake laugh, and we all wince at the same time.

Deciding it's best to change the subject, I point to the TV screen. "Hey, look, the countdown's starting."

Everyone beings to chatter excitedly, watching.

"Ten, nine, eight—," (here we all join in the chanting, laughing), "seven, six—," (here even Takeru looks a little happier as he and Koushiro get up to join us in front of the screen), "five, four, three—," (here, Taichi wanders aimlessly out of the kitchen, his cell phone in one hand and a liquor bottle in the other, his expression daze and confused as he comes to see what all the noise is about and Hikari takes his arm to bring him over to the others), "two, one! _Happy New Year_!"

We all cheer, turning to give each other well wishes and hugs. In the name of tradition, Yamato turns to kiss the nearest girl he can find (Hikari), Ken and Miyako share a peck, and even Sora kisses me softly on the cheek. Then Mimi leans up to kiss Michael on the mouth, grinning.

Taichi snaps.

Before we know it, he's attacked Michael on the floor, yelling something incoherent and slurred. Yamato tears himself away from Hikari and the two immediately grab for Taichi, yanking him up and off a bewildered and bruised Michael, whose lip is now busted. Mimi cries out in horror and drops to her knees, helping her blonde friend up to a sitting position.

"What the hell is your problem?" she shrieks at Taichi, furious.

"Why is he even here?" he demands in reply, yelling.

"He's a friend, Taichi! A _friend_! Don't treat my friends like—,"

"Oh, sure! He looked real _friendly_ right then, too!"

She's shaking from her anger. "I can't even talk to you now! I don't even want to look at you—,"

"Taichi, come off it, you're drunk and you're not thinking," Koushiro tells him quietly, trying to quell the tension in the room as he steps in between them.

But his friend is shaking his head, shoving Yamato and Hikari away.

"I'm just fine, and you know what I think?" he demands, glaring at Mimi.

She glares right back, coldly and her face pale.

Taichi stops, breathing hard. "I think we're done."

I swear, you can hear a pin drop. All that sounds is the faint shouts on the TV screen, and the fireworks outside the apartment. The lights are dazzling and mesmerizing, but no one's paying attention.

Very slowly, Mimi gets to her feet, dusting herself off. When she looks up again, she's crying.

"No, Taichi," she shakes her head. "We've been done."

Without a second glance, she turns and walks out of the apartment.

We all stand absolutely still, staring after her, until Sora curses softly and runs after her, followed by Hikari, and then a very shaken Miyako.

Which leaves just us guys.

Daisuke's the first to break the silence. He looks at Taichi seriously.

"Tai—,"

"Don't," Taichi interrupts. He's shaking so bad he can barely stand up. Staggering back, he almost drops to the ground, but I catch one arm while Takeru takes the other. He doesn't even try to pull away. Looking sick, he trembles and shakes his head again, eyes glazed. "Don't…."

And then he wrenches away and stumbles into the bathroom, retching into the toilet.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3: Yamato

**Done That**

* * *

Women, fame, and money. Things normal guys would enjoy. But Taichi, Takeru, Jyou and Yamato, four frustrated, desperate, clueless, and indecisive young men, are just about ready to throw in the chips. AU Sequel to 'Been There.'

**Disclaimer**: I don't own.

* * *

The Idiot is sprawled on Takeru's bathroom floor, where we deposited him after Miyako demanded we remove him from her sight (she's not the only one; Sora visibly twitches when you mention his name now and all the girls are furious with him for obvious reasons). He's been there all night, in a delirious half-doze, waking only to throw up some more, all the while mumbling to himself.

We decided to just leave him there and ignore him, except Takeru's flat is rather small and having The Idiot lying on the ground makes things tricky for the rest of us. Takeru, for his part, won't bother trying to be civil: he just kicks him out of the way if he's blocking something. Iori is much more sympathetic about the whole situation, even going as far as to buy fresh juice from the nearest supermarket to help tame the hangover. I, of course, having been cursed as The Idiot's best friend, have to sit in here with him.

And that's where I am, my back leaning against the wall, when The Idiot finally stirs from the all-over-the-place position he falls in when he's passed out (or sleeping normally, but same difference, I guess) and rolls over painfully on his back. He blinks at the ceiling, wincing at the bright lights, casting a hand over his face.

I get up and fill a glass of water from the kitchen, return to the bathroom, and dump the water on his face.

He sits up at once.

"Morning, asshole," I say.

He frowns at me in utter confusion. I can tell he has absolutely no idea what's going on, where he is, or even what happened to get him here.

"Wappenlsnt?" he groans.

I try very hard not to roll my eyes and fail miserably.

"A little more articulation, if you don't mind."

He rubs his face with his hands. "What happened last night?"

I shake my head.

"Nothing out of the ordinary—just you acting like the sorry bastard you are. Quite normal, I should think."

"I don't remember anything…."

"Yeah, well, unfortunately we do."

He slouches, staring unblinkingly at the floor.

"You're in Takeru's apartment," I say finally.

He nods slowly.

"You passed out at Miyako's New Year's party, remember?"

He nods again, even slower this time.

I sigh. "Taichi—,"

"I need a shower," he mutters, dragging himself over to the tub and crawling in, fully dressed. He pulls the curtain and turns on the water.

I shake my head. "Whatever."

Taking the glass, his cell phone, and the notes my manager had given me to read over the holidays (I'd been studying them while babysitting The Idiot), I return to the living room and dump everything on the table by the couch, where Iori is working on his dissertation, piles of binders stock full of papers strewn everywhere. It's impossible t tell Iori to take things easy, and he's lingering near the borderline of the obsessive now, but he seems to be enjoying it, oddly enough. Probably shouldn't judge, anyway.

He looks up when I enter the room.

"Is he awake?" he asks.

"Yes," I smirk. "All personnel, man your battle stations in five, four, three, two…and one—,"

"_Goddammit_!" Taichi yells from the bathroom, slamming his fist into the wall so hard we can all hear (Iori grabs his laptop out of fear, calming down a few seconds later when silence returns to our humble homestead).

"Yikes," Iori winces.

I clap him on the shoulder as I pass by him and into the kitchen. "Don't worry. A cold shower will cool him down. He'll be in there for a while."

"Oh, great, just what I want to hear," Takeru interrupts, grumbling, chewing on a pencil in his mouth. He walks over to pour himself another cup of coffee, still clad in a T-shirt and the blue flannel pajama bottoms that our mother sent him for his birthday (I gotta feel sorry for the kid; he always gets the crappy "useful" presents).

He's been in an unpleasant mood all morning, struggling with a piece for the newspaper he writes for that just doesn't seem to be coming together. It's near the deadline and he's getting desperate; that, and he has to put up with Taichi's hangover habits while waiting for his turn in the shower.

Strangely, though, I get the feeling there's something else going on that he isn't telling me, besides the true-love-crisis thing, which I have still yet to figure out how the hell such a stupid idea got into his thick head. Call it a brother's intuition (do they have that?), but something's going on. He barely even talks to me. And maybe I haven't been around much of late, but I know this isn't like him at all.

He struggles with the coffee pot, getting frustrated, nursing a hangover of his own, though it's not nearly on the same scale as The Idiot's. Unfortunately, though, alcohol and Takeru do not mix with results in the latter's favor, and he tends to be a little more crankier than your average recovering drunk, most likely due to the sheer embarrassment of the ridiculous acts he gets himself into when he's tipped over enough.

Hoping to avoid his obtaining any sort of personal injury, I quickly intervene and work the machine for him. He takes the mug of coffee I hand him unceremoniously, shuffling back into his bedroom while muttering something under his breath.

I glance at Iori, who shrugs.

"Don't know anything more than you do," the youngest of our group confides.

"There is something else going on with him," I say. "I know it."

"Just ask him then."

"Right. And the next thing you know, it's like we're twelve again fighting about stupid stuff only siblings can find important."

"That's what brothers do best," Iori grins.

The doorbell interrupts my next comment. Curious, I glance at the clock and realize it's already pretty late in the morning, and I have a fuzzy recollection of Hikari saying she was planning on stopping by to check up on her brother The Idiot. I immediately check myself, tucking in the light blue button-down shirt that I stole from Takeru's closet earlier (don't think he's noticed yet, though, thankfully) and running a hand under my chin, wishing I'd at least thought of shaving.

I'm surprised to see Michael with her.

He smiles back nervously at me. "Taichi here?"

"Er—yeah, but are you sure you want to see him?" I ask carefully.

He nods.

"We should have talked a long time ago. It's my fault for what happened and I feel responsible for clearing it up."

And for a moment, I really can understand Takeru's secret bewildered frustration with this guy. For God's sake, it's impossible to stay angry at him! Even I'm a little jealous, and the fact that Hikari's smiling and nodding her approval beside him doesn't help me any. Maybe it's high time the guys buy Michael a drink and figure out some of his secrets….

I step away from the doorway.

"Come on in, then."

Iori waves from the couch. "Morning, Michael. Hello, Hikari."

"Good morning, Iori. How is your dissertation coming?" Hikari moves lithely across the hallway, seating herself beside her young friend as he explains the progress he's made thus far. And she doesn't even ask to be polite—she's just genuinely interested in the things that matter to her friends. That's just Hikari for you, though. Pity The Idiot couldn't have picked up a thing or two.

Michael shoves his hands into his pockets, glancing around the apartment. He's sporting a very nice bruise on the corner of his mouth, but it doesn't look nearly as bad as it did last night. He cleans up pretty well. Hopefully, that means it's not very serious either. I shouldn't have worried; a drunk Taichi usually entails a lack of distinct coordination, making him much less of a threat than he can be when he's sober and angry.

Then again, he's sober now, and seeing Michael the second he steps out of the bathroom is mot definitely going to get him angry.

I remind Michael of this, but he calmly smiles the warning away, confident in himself and his mission.

He may be a classic ladies man, but he's not very bright.

Now that's sad.

Finally, the bathroom door opens. Taichi stumbles out, rubbing at his damp hair with one of the hand towels Takeru keeps just in case our mother drops by and tries to accuse him of living with no decent decorative style. He's still wearing the jeans he wore to the party last night (I remember Miyako taking offense to the fact that he refused to dress up for her little holiday party), but he doesn't have a shirt on.

He stops, staring at us.

We stare back.

He jerks his chin at Michael, "Hey, how's it going?" before walking into the kitchen in a thoroughly nonchalant manner.

Michael is clearly taken by surprise, as are the rest of us. "Great, thanks, but I was actually—,"

"Who drank all the coffee?" Taichi demands.

Michael looks at me for help and with a sigh I drag myself over to the kitchen and take the coffee maker away from The Idiot before he inflicts any permanent damage. He doesn't protest, watching with a skeptical frown as I make another pot for all of us.

And then—

"_Taichi_!"

Caught off guard, I almost spill scalding hot water on my hands, but I leap back as it narrowly misses Taichi. He darts away, shooting me a look, and we both turn around to see Hikari gaping at her brother from the hallway. Michael's a little behind her, just as confused as the rest of us.

Hikari points an accusatory finger at her brother.

"When did you get a tattoo?" she demands, not quite angry but not quite shocked either.

My mouth opens in surprise, but Taichi shrugs away the stares and takes the coffee pot from me.

"London."

"When?" Hikari prods, determined to get to the bottom of the story.

I lean over to glimpse a dark blue design of a snake-like dragon just under his left shoulder blade. I'm amazed.

"Tai—,"

"It wasn't my idea," he grumbles, going to rummage through the fridge.

"Then whose was it?" Hikari asks, sighing exasperatedly.

"Mimi's."

We're speechless.

He doesn't move, staring into the fridge. "We were lost," he goes on softly, "and it was raining—it's always raining there and she hates what the humidity does to her hair—so we went into the nearest shelter we could find, and it turned out to be a tattoo parlor." He smirks, remembering. "She was supposed to get one, too. That was the deal. But as soon as the needle touched her skin she passed out right there in the chair. Had to carry her home. _God_, she's heavy." He chuckles, but it dies away quickly and he sighs, casting a hand over his face. He leans forward to bang his head on the freezer door. "_Dammit_," he whispers to himself.

Michael takes his cue.

"Taichi, you know I'd never—,"

"Yeah, I know," he interrupts, his back still turned to us.

"And she really—,"

"I know."

"No, Taichi, listen to me," he says firmly. "I don't know what—what's going on between you two, but I would never, ever get in the way of something as beautiful as what you two have."

Taichi doesn't say anything for a while, his forehead pressed to the fridge.

"You mean 'had'," he murmurs.

Michael smiles in spite of himself. "Why are you doing this to her?"

Taichi immediately looks up, spinning around. "What the hell are you—?"

"There has to be a reason. I know you have one," the blonde continues calmly, undeterred. "I just want to know what it is."

Taichi shakes his head, "You have no right to—,"

"Fine. You don't have to tell me. But you could at least have the courtesy of being honest with her, if you care about her as much as I think you do—as much as I _know_ you do. I've always respected you, Tai. Don't disappoint me now."

And with that, he says his goodbyes and excuses himself from the apartment.

Taichi is still staring at the place where he'd been, a strange expression on his face. Hikari, clearly anxious, places a hand on his arm reassuringly. "Tai?"

"It's a good reason," he says suddenly.

I cross my arms over my chest, watching him.

"It is," he insists, trying desperately to convince himself. "It's good."

I shake my head, frowning. "Do you even realize what you have—?"

"Of course, I do!" he snaps at me. "And everyday I wake up next to her I still can't believe she's really there. It doesn't make any sense. The things I've done—I don't deserve her. I don't. And when I think of all the things she's missing because of me—I can't stand it—,"

"She chose you for a reason, Taichi," Hikari whispers. "The only thing she's missing because of you _is_ you. Keeping all this to yourself, telling yourself these things all the time, convincing yourself it's true—Tai, you're taking away what she needs most when you try and put up these walls thinking you're protecting her."

I nod in agreement.

"You've got to be honest with her, Tai."

He sighs, shutting his eyes, leaning back against the fridge. "I know…."

"I think it's time for you to stop knowing and start acting," I say. "Whatever happened to the impulsive Taichi of the good ol' days?" I smile, straightening. "Come on. I'll come with you."

Taichi glances at me doubtfully.

"She doesn't want to see me now."

"She doesn't want to see you if you're going to keep acting like a jerk. Be yourself and she'll listen. That's the least you could do."

"After everything you've been through up 'til now, do you really want it to end like this?" Hikari asks bluntly.

And that clinches it.

"Let me change first," he mumbles, going off in search of his suitcase.

To break the silence that settles after he leaves, I glance at Hikari with a grin. "Good job, team."

She laughs.

"Hopefully, he'll go through with it."

"Don't worry about it," I assure. "They'll be fine. They always are."

She smiles softly.

"I hope so…."

The silence lingers again, and I can hear Iori shuffling papers in the living room. I glance around the kitchen, my hands itching to do something so I don't have to stand there and look stupid. I half-wish Taichi would hurry up and come out. Still, I struggle to come up with something to say when she suddenly interrupts:

"Is Takeru around?"

I blink, surprised.

"Yeah. In his room."

"Oh. Okay, thanks." She hesitates a little. "Um, he's not sleeping, is he?"

"No. Just sulking, probably."

Her eyes widen a little. "So Koushiro was telling me the truth about his—crisis?" she whispers the last word, as though my brother might pop up out of no where and be mortally horrified about the fact she's gossiping at him. I have to grin at this, knowing perfectly well Takeru could care less.

"Pretty much, yeah."

"I suppose I'll go check on him then," she suggests, already heading in the direction of his bedroom.

I call after her, "Hey, Kari!"

She glances back. "Yes?"

"I don't—well, I don't suppose you want to get some lunch or something later, do you?"

She smiles.

"I'm actually going with Takeru in a little while. That's why I came—well, besides the checking up on Taichi part, but I think you've got that covered."

I force a grin.

"'Course I do. You can count on me."

She smiles again.

"Maybe some other time."

"Yeah, sure, no problem. Don't worry about it. I was just—well, it wasn't planned or anything obviously so of course you already had plans made. Should have realized that, sorry."

She hesitates when she stops at Takeru's door.

"Really, Hikari, don't worry. It's fine. There'll be plenty of other chances," I promise.

"Yeah," she nods. "Well then…good luck with Tai—,"

"Thanks," I interrupt quickly.

"Um, I'll see you later then?"

"Sure," I say.

She smiles one last time, her eyes brightening beautifully.

And then Takeru opens his door.

"What the hell is with all the racket?" he explodes, still cranky (if anything, I think the coffee just made his mood all the worse). "Can't a guy get any peace and quiet around here?"

Hikari rolls her eyes at me, shoves Takeru back into his room, and with a laugh, waves goodbye before closing the door behind her.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4: Taichi

**Done That**

* * *

Women, fame, and money. Things normal guys would enjoy. But Taichi, Takeru, Jyou and Yamato, four frustrated, desperate, clueless, and indecisive young men, are just about ready to throw in the chips. AU Sequel to 'Been There.' 

**Disclaimer**: I don't own.

**Author's Note**: Hey, just a warning that I plan on spending more attention on the 'My Captain's Lady' sequel ('City of Kings') for a while, so the updates will get a tad bit slow for this. Sorry for that guys, but I've got to find a balance. But no worries, you'll soon have the next chapter for 'Done That', and I hope it'll be worth the wait.

* * *

_I fucking hate these stupid trains!_

Tense, I lean into the counter, glaring at the screen that separates me from the person I want to kill in ruthless, cold blood.

"Look," I say as calmly as I can, "it is extremely important that I get on that train, and you had damn well get me on that train, because odds are I know your boss and I can very easily get your ass fired for all this security bullshit you insist on boring me with—,"

"Can't you give us two minutes?" Yamato interrupts suddenly, shoving me out of the way.

I grumble, stepping back reluctantly as he takes over the negotiations.

"I'm sorry, but I have my orders and I have to follow them," the stubborn ticket person says matter-of-factly. "It's out of my hands."

"Okay, so then if I feel the obligation to punch your face in, then could following my personal inclination to do so be considered out of my hands?" I snarl.

Yamato shoots me a dirty look and I glare right back.

"Thanks anyway," he says, taking my arm and dragging me away. The traitor. "You're an idiot, do you know that?"

I wrench myself out of his grasp moodily.

"Stupid policies…."

Yamato sighs loudly, as though to indicate how much he is sacrificing by putting up with me. Yeah, fine, so I'm being exceptionally difficult. But considering the circumstances, I have the right to be.

I just barely got to Sora's apartment in time for her to politely inform me that she currently despised my guts and that Mimi was on her way home to her parents' apartment to spend the week and cool off—away from me. Of course, I turned right around and dragged Yamato with me to the train station, pointedly ignoring Sora's warnings that perhaps I should give Mimi a day or two to calm down before charging in and making things worse. But I wasn't about to let this go on any longer. I couldn't. Michael was right—and no, I'm not jealous of him, so shut up.

Still, he was right.

I can't keep doing this to her.

The more I keep pretending that these fights we pick with each other are more deeply rooted in my fears of losing her than I'll willingly admit, then the more my stupid and idiotic attempts of protection won't work.

I _have_ to tell her.

Or I _will_ lose her.

And I don't think I can bear that. I know I can't.

So I went ahead and "charged in", as Sora likes to call it. I don't care what she thinks though, or what anyone else thinks, and I know they all have their own opinions about my behavior that night.

But why the hell should I care what other people think? That's their business and this is mine, so I'll handle it my way. I don't know why people can't see that. It makes total sense. More people should listen to me.

"Come on," he gestures, nodding to the doorway that leads to the platform. A guard checking the tickets of the boarding passengers is lingering nearby, looking immensely bored. I frown.

"What are you—?"

"Just trust me, stupid," he snaps.

Grunting in reply, I follow him cautiously. He causally walks up to the guard, looks around the platform, coughs, and when that doesn't work, clears his throat rather loudly.

The guard starts, frowning, and then pales white as a sheet when he sees Yamato.

"You—you—you!" he stutters, his glasses slipping off his face as he trembles.

I have to roll my eyes. Weird as it sounds, I often forget how popular Yamato is, and how I can easily take advantage of that convenient fact. I smirk, exchanging a glance with my best friend, who smiles back before turning his attentions on his (apparently) number one fan. And while they engage in a polite conversation, the guard positively giggling with joy, I sneak away.

Once on the platform, I scan the surroundings, a bit caught off guard by the busyness of it all. It's nothing like the subways, I know, but these high-class, cross-country trains still attract quite a crowd. But I'm not here to treat the scene like a businessman; I'm here to grovel.

Looking around, my eyebrows knit in determined concentration, I finally locate the right train and head toward it. Boarding in the closest compartment to me, I squeeze through the aisles, peering into every seat, feeling the tension and anxiety multiplying with every passing second.

And then, like the saving grace I'm convinced she is, I find her just when I think I won't.

She's settled comfortably in her cushioned first class chair, her curled light brown hair falling in ringlets on her shoulders, bangs pushed out of her face by a pair of dark sunglasses propped on the top of her head. She's wearing a white blouse and a pink patterned skirt, with a large white sash tied loosely around her waist and fiddling with a necklace her parents bought for her birthday last year.

I remember that birthday clearly; it was the first we spent as a couple. I so desperately wanted it to be perfect, but we both got off work ridiculously late and the icing on the cake melted in the box because my taxi was stuck in a traffic jam and she ended up having to sit by herself in our new and dismally cold apartment for almost two hours, waiting for me.

We'd just bought the flat, moving out of the temporary apartment we had and trying to make it on our own, testing the waters. Nothing worked yet—not the lights, the heating, or the phones. Her birthday was supposed to be the grand opening event for our new home and she'd been looking forward to it all month. I was so angry at myself for ruining it—ruining everything like I always do. I couldn't even call her and explain because the apartment was too new and she'd dropped her cell phone into the river just the day before, and I knew she'd be furious, sick as I was of all my excuses. No, not even furious. Disappointed. I had let her down again.

But after coming home to find her fast asleep, curled up on that atrocious royal purple rug she insisted on buying to commemorate the move despite my vehement protests, surrounded by a scattering of flickering candles she'd used as decorations, wearing that famous evergreen dress that still gets to me, a party cone hat strapped lopsidedly on her head, one thing and one thing only came to my mind:

"I need you," I say.

Everyone in the train compartment turns and stares at me, unabashed.

Cue _Jerry Maguire_ movie analogy.

I step forward, trying to be as honest as I can while surrounded by total strangers and hoping I don't sound so clichéd that she won't take me seriously.

Very carefully, slowly, she straightens in her chair, separated from me by another set of seats while I stand in the aisle directly before her, struggling to think of something to say. Thing is, when she looks at me like that, I can't think at all. I don't want to. I just want to reach for her, bring her close, touch and kiss her, make love to her and never regret a single moment.

Realizing I should be saying that instead of just thinking it, I stumble over my next words anxiously.

"I'm stupid," I continue, "and I probably always will be. I don't know what's good for me, and I'm selfish and arrogant, and I respect my pride too much. I do things without thinking; I don't know how to tell people what I really feel and I'm even more scared to show them. I'm impulsive and hotheaded and I rely on alcohol too much sometimes. I think it's my job to protect the people I care about, to never let them down in any way, but I always do and I don't know how to change. I'm honest about the wrong things and I keep more secrets than what's healthy. I want so much for you to understand me, to see past what everyone else thinks they see, but I'm scared of what'll happen if you do because I don't know what will happen in this or in anything, and I can't stand not having control like that. I hate failure more than anything. I use self-defense to avoid pain. Experience taught me that holding onto something too tightly means I'll get it taken away, but I can't find a balance between the two extremes. The thought of losing you just kills me, because I can't think of one reason for you to stay if you had to chance to leave. I think the world is right when they tell us we're too different, and I'm scared of hurting you. But I can't avoid you—you're everything and everywhere and I'm so overwhelmed that I don't know where to start or what to do or how to tell you that I'm willing to change if you'll just promise to be there to show me how. Just—just show me how…."

She's staring at me blankly, her cheeks flushed a little.

I take a deep breath, waiting, fisting my hands to keep them from shaking.

Suddenly, a woman behind me bursts into tears.

I jump, startled, spinning around to find an elderly grandmother sobbing into her handkerchief, blubbering something about my little speech, all while clutching onto the hand of a small child who spies me suspiciously, frowning.

"Where's your ticket?" the child demands distrustfully.

_Crap_.

And then the train starts moving.

Everyone sits down, chattering amongst themselves as the gossip over my outburst and making no efforts to keep their speculations from my ears.

I panic, looking over the masses for the exit, knowing Yamato will kill me as soon as the guards and ticket agency skin me alive, but I freeze when I feel her hand slip into mine and she whispers in my ear,

"You are pretty stupid, you know."

I turn back around, not even daring to believe it all actually worked, wondering what she must think of me now.

"And you probably always will be."

"Most likely," I whisper back.

She looks at me with a small smile.

The train jerks again and I almost fall over my feet, but I grab for her hand. And suddenly, I know nothing's going to shake me, shake this. I won't let that happen. And I'm not going to fail that one.

I take the seat next to her, but she pushes out of her chair and climbs into my lap, tucking her face into the crook of my neck and closing her eyes, her breath soft against my skin. I pull her close, breathing her in.

"I'm really sorry, Mimi."

"I'm sorry, too."

I smile, "For what?"

"For not understanding what you were going through, for not seeing it." She lifts her face to look at me directly. "But the old us _is_ done, and that's not coming back. We're going to be different this time, Tai. Let's be honest with each other from now on, okay?"

I touch my nose to hers. "Okay."

She settles into me.

"Good."

I glance over her shoulder and through the window, staring at the passing scenery.

"You know, we've never talked about it before."

"About what?" she murmurs.

I hesitate, "About…about the baby, Mimi."

She grows strangely still.

"I've just noticed that we've never talked about—about that."

She doesn't say anything.

Before I can find out more, she suddenly pulls away and slides back into her chair next to me, warily eyeing the audience we've accumulated in the compartment. I understand her implications at once; that was _not_ something to be discussed with eavesdroppers. But it was something that bothered me, though I didn't realize until right then that it was. I vaguely wonder why she hasn't mentioned it before, when it strikes me like a slap across the face where I am and where I'm going.

"Wait a minute—,"

"Don't worry, Taichi, my parents don't hate you as much as they want to," she assures.

I stare at her, wondering if that's supposed to be comforting.

"But—,"

"You're already on the train. You might as well come home with me. I was planning on staying with them for a week on this visit, but we can cut it short since you're here," she thinks aloud. "There's a fold-out bed in the living room."

"Can't I stay in your room?" I ask in vain, mostly out of fear of accidentally running into her parents in the living room without her there. Okay, scratch that, mostly out of fear of accidentally running into her father in the living room without her there. Why the hell can't I ever think things through completely before diving into situations like this so stupidly?

Knowing I'd just been rewarded for my efforts to really change with a firsthand experience of what hell must be like (cruel, cruel God), I helplessly allow her to cuddle up against me and remain there all the way to her parents' town, entertaining various plots of escape. But then again, what better way to prove to her the kind of new commitment I want to have with her than by facing another terror of any boyfriend's life—the parents.

God, help me.

And miraculously, He answers.

I'm so shocked, I just stand there in front of the door to her parents' apartment and listen to her read aloud from the note her mother left her, explaining of an engagement that would keep them out for the rest of the afternoon.

Mimi smirks.

"Talk about luck…."

"Tell me about it," I mutter, not bothering to hide my feelings now. It's like a weight right off my chest.

"I meant for me," she jokes. "How do you suppose I explain your coming to join us for the weekend? My parents aren't going to be very cooperative, I'm warning you."

"Well, considering this is the second time we're going to be in the same room since I kidnapped you and took you to England, I highly expect them to welcome me with open arms."

"Sarcasm's so unfairly sexy on you."

I grin slyly. "Try and control yourself, will you?"

"Nope," she shakes her head, wraps her arms around my neck, and kisses me full on the mouth. It's the kind of kiss you wait for all your life, deep and romantic and so full of a range of emotions that I can't begin to describe it.

"You didn't have to track me down and tell me all those things, you know," she says softly. "A simple, 'I was wrong and you were right' would have sufficed."

I chuckle.

"You are so full of yourself."

"I learn from the best," she teases, biting on my bottom lip as she kisses me again. God, she's good at that.

"But I meant every word, Mimi," I tell her in all seriousness. "I'm not going to mess this chance up. You deserve more than that, and I'm going to prove it to you."

"I know," she smiles. "And I'm holding you to it, too."

"'Then hold me tight,'" I quote from an American television serial, and she laughs into my mouth.

I walk her backwards and we find our way to the couch, where she pushes me down, crawling up to straddle me. She leans down, bringing the tip of her nose to mine. I breathe her in, loving her this close.

"Taichi…" she whispers, staring at me intently, "you know I love you, don't you?"

I stare, surprised. "Of course I do. Why, what's going on?"

With a sigh, she starts to slide off me, but I grab her wrists to keep her by my side.

"What's wrong?" I ask seriously. "Tell me."

She lies beside me, nestled between my body and the back of the sofa, staring into my eyes with an expression I can't quite understand. I'm confused, sure there's something I missed, wondering if it has to do with our dramatic reunion scene in the train. Then she shakes her head and smiles. "It's nothing."

"Mi—,"

She interrupts with a kiss.

"It's nothing."

I won't believe her, and she can tell. She touches her hand to my face, rolling back over me to kiss me again, deeply, passionately. I still don't understand what she meant by that unexpected interruption, but with the way her tongue and lips are massaging my neck right now, I really don't care too much to figure it out right at this moment.

Instead, I welcome the kisses, touching my lips to her face and throat. She pushes back to pull her blouse off, dropping it on the ground by the couch, and returns to lower herself on me, her kisses moving lower and lower as she works each button of my shirt apart. I lift myself up and try to shake it off without breaking our kiss, somehow managing it, and gently push her back underneath me.

She encircles her arms around my waist, bringing me close. I kiss her deeply, trailing down her neck and collarbone to the rise of her breasts, fingering the clasp of her bra. Her fingers run through my hair as I pull myself up over her completely.

She murmurs softly as I bite down on the soft of her neck. "Maybe we should move into a room…."

"Too late," I reply, tracing the curves of her body until my hand comes to a rest on the zipper of her skirt.

"This is my parents' apartment, remember?" she giggles, wiggling out of her skirt and kicking it off.

"For the love of God, Mi," I beg, "don't mention your parents now."

She laughs, grazing the tips of her fingers over my back and shoulders, and I gently coax her legs up to wrap low around my hips, kissing her everywhere I can. She murmurs softly in my ear, gripping my hair, arching into me, whispering my name—

"Mimi, darling! Welcome home!"

"_Shit_!" we yell together.

Mimi's eyes snap open, and I leap off of her. I trip over myself and land hard on the floor, tangled in our clothes, while she sits up and searches frantically for something to cover her body, clad now in only her undergarments.

Then, struck by the silence, we stop at the same time as though we realize together that the inevitable cannot be avoided. That's when we see her parents standing in the open doorway, expressionless, still poised to enter their apartment before they caught us.

Might as well say goodbye now, so goodbye and thanks for listening to me thus far, but I can't talk anymore, sorry—I'm about to be murdered.

Mimi, so red she looks sunburned, shakes her head.

"You could have—," she stops, knowing that knocking would have been a stupid suggestion (this _was_ their home), and then adds to correct herself, though it's equally lame, "called…."

Keisuke grunts something incomprehensible, leaning forward to grab the door handle and pulling the door shut firmly behind him to leave the apartment altogether again.

Well, not before I hear Satoe hissing about my leading her precious baby into sin, but I'm willing to overlook that considering they're actually going to let me live.

I slowly look up and glance at my girlfriend, who has her face buried in her hands.

"Well…."

"Yeah…" she mumbles, shaking her head.

"Maybe we should—,"

"—get a room—"

"—get a hotel—,"

"—yeah—,"

I run a hand through my hair. "Your father really hates me doesn't he?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Damn."

"Oh, yeah." She laughs. "Get back up here."

"You get down here."

She leans over as I lean up and we meet for a kiss halfway. It's passionate and deep and sensual—until we both break apart and look at each other.

"Not going to happen," we say in unison, and that's that.

At the risk of sounding like an angst-ridden fifteen-year-old—_parents suck_.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5: Takeru

**Done That**

* * *

Women, fame, and money. Things normal guys would enjoy. But Taichi, Takeru, Jyou and Yamato, four frustrated, desperate, clueless, and indecisive young men, are just about ready to throw in the chips. AU Sequel to 'Been There.' 

**Disclaimer**: I don't own.

* * *

From the very beginning, I know it's a bad idea. But it was my mother's idea, and being the good, obedient son that I am, I agreed with her and proceeded to arrange it. Yamato, strangely enough, didn't put up as much of a fight as I expected. Then again, I did casually mention the plans while he was still gleaning amusement out of Taichi's phone call that evening. 

When Taichi didn't come off the train, Yamato only assumed he had gotten himself into trouble again (either that or Mimi had finally snapped and slaughtered him—several of us had bets on the latter). But we were all caught by surprise when Taichi called that evening to wish us all a heartfelt goodbye, certain that Mimi's father planned to skin him alive sometime in the middle of the night when no one could hear his screams. Yamato managed to calm him down enough to hear what had happened, and Taichi had been so offended by our uncontrollable bursts of laughter that he hung up in a great huff, sorely deeming us all losers. The three of us could have cared less, though Iori did end up calling him back to apologize (and since it was impossible to hold a grudge against Iori, Taichi still deemed us all losers and asked to be sent some defensive pepper spray as a token of friendship).

An hour later, Yamato was still chuckling to himself, and I took advantage of the opportunity to tell him that Natsuko, our mother, wanted to have lunch tomorrow with the both of us. It was something she usually planned every once in a while, andI personally feel it's a great idea. The divorce made it worse on all of us enough, and growing up and growing apart shouldn't have to ruin it completely. It was important to her and to me to keep the family together, somehow.

Yamato had waved the news aside with a "Sure, sure, wake me up whenever" and then proceeded to telephone Sora with news of Taichi's latest catastrophic accomplishment.

It isn't until morning that things began to sink in for him.

He frowns at me over the cereal box I am trying to hide behind, hoping he would conveniently forget about the plans and come along obliviously. I really hate my luck.

"Takeru, what's this lunch thing with Natsuko all about?"

I wince.

"She's your mother, too. You could at least acknowledge it," I say, avoiding the subject.

He's unfazed.

"You could have told me about it first."

"I did!"

"No, you tricked me. I wasn't even paying attention when you asked, and you knew it—,"

"Look, it's just lunch. What's the big deal?" I straighten in my chair, finishing off my cereal and putting to bowl and spoon in the sink. "What's the worse that could happen?"

"I like you better when you're hung-over and cranky," he grumbles.

I smirk.

"I'll meet you at the café at noon. Don't be late, all right?"

He sighs, not saying anything, and I take that as an affirmative.

I grab my jacket and abowler hatas I leave the apartment, putting both on while jogging through the crowd to the subway station. I squeeze into the nearest train, squished up between the glass windows and a rather sweaty large man who's in dire need of a breath mint. And a shower. Hell, someone just throw him into the river—

"Ow!"

I turn on instinct, guilty for whatever I did, but then I realize that the owner of the voice isn't hurting because of me. The large man has his elbow jammed into a woman's neck, and she's wincing, trying to push him away, but the train's too crowded for anyone to move very much. I reach out for her, taking her by the forearm, and pull her gently towards me. She struggles through the pinching crowd and stumbles to my side finally. Breathless, she tries to smooth her blouse, running a hand through her curly hair.

I start in surprise, recognizing her at once.

"Sumiko?" I ask.

She looks up, meeting my gaze with surprised gray eyes and then breaks out into smiles when she sees me.

I grin back. "What are you doing here?"

"Trying to get to work," she admits.

"Same here."

"Oh, I hate these trains," she sighs, brushing her hair back. "Thanks for pulling me out of that mess, by the way."

"Hey, no problem. Don't mention it."

The train stops and a several people get off. We have a few seconds of comfort before a swarm of more passengers begin to board. She groans. I have to grin at that, remember that she's not a city girl and probably not used to all this.

"Come here," I say, slipping a protective arm around her shoulders and bringing her away from any potential danger. I turn her so we're both facing the window, huddled together.

"Thanks," she says again.

I nod to her, my chin accidentally rubbing against the top of her head. Her curly hair tickles my skin and I laugh, extremely vulnerable when it comes to such matters. She cocks her head, curious, but I just shake mine.

"No, your hair—it's ticklish," I explain between laughs, feeling incredibly stupid.

She grins wickedly, eyes glinting as she tilts her head towards me.

"Hey, stop!" I protest, trying to lean back, but there's no room to move. "That's unfair!"

She laughs, shaking her head at me, and I catch a whiff of jasmine-scented shampoo. Wow, that smells good. Then the train jolts to another stop, and a flock of schoolgirls nearby bump into Sumiko inadvertently. They immediately break into apologies, and Sumiko's hurriedly assuring them not to worry, and I'm suddenly lost in a sea of jasmines with one of my best friend's wife pressed up tight against my chest, wrapped in my arms. And suddenly, the subway is rather warm, and her skin feels very soft, and I'm wondering why I've never noticed how very attractive her wide, laughing gray eyes are.

_Oh, shit._

Needless to say, I'm now panicking, realizing the implications of such a compromising position. So when the schoolgirls finally get off the train, and she glances back at me, I blurt out, "So how's Daisuke?"

Her smile falls from her perfectly painted lips faster than—well, I can't really think of a good analogy with her this close to me, so it's best I don't try.

"I don't really want to talk about that right now," she says quietly, looking down.

I can't help it. I have to feel sorry. As someone who grew up in a family that always fought and finally broke apart, I can get a small glimpse of what she must be going through. Come to think of it, though, I haven't talked to Daisuke since he arrived at the New Year's party alone and looking like a car wreck. I remember the look on his face later in the evening when the clock finally struck midnight and everyone had someone to kiss but him.

"He misses you," I say, not entirely sure if it's true but willing to bet the lottery that he does, even if he won't admit it. "He just…he's confused right now." I pause. "And stupid. But that's all the time. You'll see, it'll work out."

She smiles half-heartedly.

"Thanks, Takeru," she says genuinely, and I know she means it.

But it all seems to fade when her stop finally arrives and she leans in to hug me goodbye, and I have to bend a little to return the embrace, and that large man with the foul breath accidentally jerks his elbow into my back, and I arch away, wincing, and she turns her head a little while I move mine—and somehow, our lips meet for the tiniest fraction of a second and something happens inside of me that I can't even begin to describe.

We both pull away at once, her mouth forming a little "o" and her face no doubt as shocked as mine. She blushes and I redden, feeling the heat creep up my collar.

"Um—,"

"I—,"

We blink, staring at each other.

Then she snaps out of it. "Sorry, I have to go," she says hurriedly.

"Yeah," I manage to reply, dazed.

She hesitates just once before darting through the crowds and onto the platform.

I turn to stare after her, still feeling that tingling sensation of her lips on mine, my feet glued to the floor.

_Dammit!_ I smack myself on the head. _How low can you possibly go, you idiot?_

I suck in my chest and try not to think about it for the rest of the morning, turning my guilt and uneasiness into a nice, new grumpy attitude that scares the new intern at the newspaper. I apologize to her later, but the damage seems to have been done as she nods her head very quickly and disappears before I can even give her the next assignment. I blame it all on the fact that the coffee machine is broken and we're stuck with decaffeinated tea, choosing to ignore the encounter on the subway station. It meant nothing anyway. A total accident. Completely unintentional.

Of course, Daisuke won't care what the situation was. He'll have me beaten to a pulp, bury me alive, and _then_ figure out what really happened.

Of course, I'm not going to tell him.

I mean, why should I? It was one stupid, dumb accident. Odds are, I'll forget it all by the end of the day, and she's most definitely forgotten it by now, too. I'm being stupid still thinking about it, and I tell myself sternly, _So stop thinking about it_.

Comforting myself with that, I return to my work and set up a few new appointments for next week, finally checking out for lunch a little before noon. I reach the café my mother chose quickly enough, just in time to see my brother sulkily making his way towards me, protected from recognition with a trench coat, sunglasses, and large hat. He looks pretty shady, and when I tell him as much, he grabs the bowler hat from off the top of my head and chucks it into the street, earning us several honks from surprised drivers. I laugh at him some more but he tells me to shove it, stomping inside the restaurant.

Our mother is sitting at a table near the window, primly dressed in a blue business suit and long skirt, and she waves us over right away.

"And how are my boys?" she greets, rising to kiss both of us on the cheek lightly.

Yamato doesn't answer, taking great pains to settle himself in his chair and letting me do the talking.

"Fine," I say. "Just busy with work and things, but we're okay."

Yamato still doesn't say anything, even though she looks at him expectantly. When it's clear he's more interested in the print on the tablecloth than speaking to his own mother, she finally glances away, wistful. I try to think of something to say and break the awkward silence, mentally smacking my brother upside the head for being so insensitive. I understand they don't have the greatest of relationships, but he doesn't have to make it so damn obvious. Even a little courtesy wouldn't hurt.

Taking a deep breath,I flash my mother a smile.

"And how are things with you?"

She nods appreciatively. "Wonderful. I'm working on a new book."

"Yeah?"

"Yes," she corrects.

I crack a grin. "Whatever."

She smiles back warmly.

"Shall we order?"

"Please," Yamato mutters, glancing around for the waiter. When our mother's face is turned away, I kick him in the shin. He swears. "The hell—?"

"Quit being a jerk," I hiss at him.

He glares right back but says nothing.

We order our meals, and the waiter serves us tea while we wait. In the silence after the first few polite questions, she smiles at me. "So how are Miyako and Ken? Excited for the wedding?"

"Most definitely," I agree, grinning. "At least, Miyako is. Ken seems to be more and more stressed the closer the day arrives, however."

She nods as though she understands.

"I was like that, too."

"I'll bet," Yamato says.

I glance at him with disapproval, but she beats me to it. "I was, Yamato. Believe it or not."

"Well, I don't," he answers coolly, meeting her gaze for the first time since we arrived. "And I don't see why we're discussing marriages and weddings when we all know how yours failed completely."

She says nothing and I groan mentally. So much for quality family time.

"You don't understand," she tells him.

"Yes, I do."

"No. You _think_ you do, but you don't. You don't know the whole truth—,"

"Only because you never tell us the truth about anything," he snaps back.

I try to intervene, desperate for this to not become just another fight. I can't stand this fighting.

"Well, if you tell us your side, once and for all, maybe we can understand each other," I suggest, surprising them. Yamato frowns at him, but I'm serious.

My mother looks thoughtful.

She hesitates a little, "All right. I'll tell you."

I shoot Yamato a look of triumph, which he promptly ignores, accepting the tea the waiter hands him. We wait a few minutes, sipping our drinks in silence.

And then she begins: "Our marriage was…," but she stops, thinking.

_A mistake_, I expect her to say, dreading it. But she doesn't.

"It was falling apart before it even began," she admits sadly, her eyes glazed. "Nothing we could have done would have saved it."

"Then why didn't you at least try?" I ask quietly.

"We _did_. We really tried, Takeru, we really did. But not everything in life is picture-perfect. Not everyone has a fairytale ending. That's just how it works for some people."

Yamato slouches in his chair. "That's not true," he says softly.

She glances at him with that tired expression she gets. I have to feel sorry for her. She's spent so much time trying to get back on my brother's good side that it's clearly taking a toll. And by the look on her face, I can tell she simply doesn't know why she even tries anymore. That is, I know she loves him and he does—_must_ love her. But something was broken between them a long time ago, and things of that nature take even longer to repair.

"Well, it was true for us," she murmured finally.

I'm still curious.

"Thenwhen did you realize it wasn't going towork?"

She looks straight into my eyes, blue meeting blue. "When I was pregnant with you."

Yamato puts down his tea cup, scowling. "What are you talking about?" he demands, annoyed, but I can hear the uncertainty lacing his words.

My mother sighs. "You want to hear the whole story? Because if you won't listen to me I won't try to explain myself. And I know I really can't, not fully, because this is something no parent wants to force upon their children—divorce and separation and all the heartache that comes with it. It's unfair to the children. But we put you two through it, and we are sorry. _I_ am sorry, Takeru, Yamato. Please understand." Her voice is soft, "I never thought it would end like that."

We sit in silence, waiting.

She swirls her tea with her spoon, staring down at the tablecloth. It's clear how hard it is for her to talk about this, but for once in my life I can't bring myself to sympathize with her, not yet. Not after what I fear she's going to say.

"Your father and I…we loved each other very much. Very, very much. But we loved our work, too. I was very concerned with my reporting and Hiroaki with his position at the station. It meant a lot to us, you understand, our work. We both came from poor families, remember, and we were both raised to fight for what we wanted and needed, and that's what we did. But we also made the mistake of letting our work slowly take precedence over what really mattered. And that was you, Yamato."

My brother straightens uncomfortably, his expression suspicious and cautious, remaining as stoic as he possible can. I see him clutching hiscup tightly, and I glance away, my eyes darting to the passersby on the street outside the café, listening numbly.

"We were much too young when you came along," my mother whispers. "We didn't know—we didn't understand all the responsibility that comes with parenthood, and we naively thought we could balance our separate lives with our new family. But we couldn't. We were scared. We were young. We made mistakes and blamed each other. And we decided not to have any more children, already stressed by the pressures we were facing with just one."

She took a deep breath. "And as selfish as it sounds, we simply thought we didn't want another child. We had come from small families and that was what we wanted, small and focused and just us. No more distractions. We thought by deciding to not have any more children, we would be able to focus more on you, Yamato, and make our family strong."

She paused again, frowning into her cup.

"But neither of you are married now, and neither of you can fully understand the pressures it takes to keep up a marriage, to make it last. Your father and I barely knew how to do it ourselves. We fumbled our way through, missing and messing up constantly, until I was certain there would be no way to fix this. And then we found out I was pregnant with you, Takeru, and we didn't know what to do. It was a struggle, a long and complicated fight, and finally—,"

I slam my chair back, standing suddenly.

"I have to go," I mumble.

She looks at me, as though truly startled by my reaction.

"Takeru—,"

"I have to go," I repeat, trying to squeeze behind Yamato's chair and staggering out into the aisle.

I feel lightheaded, vaguely nauseous, and I stand there for a minute, utterly confused. And everything seems to hurt all at once. I can't think and I can't focus; all I remember is the fact that my parents—my _parents_….

Behind me, Yamato is the first to speak, his voice low. "You shouldn't have told him that."

My mother takes a deep, shaky breath, trying to keep from crying. "He wanted the truth."

I can practically hear the glare in Yamato's voice. "You shouldn't have told him that."

Listening to the way they talk, it's like I'm not even there.

And apparently, I was never supposed to be.

Dizzy, I stumble out the restaurant but pick up my pace so quickly it takes Yamato a few minutes to catch up with me. I walk faster, trying to get away from him, from everything.

He grabs my elbow. "Takeru—,"

"Stay the hell away from me," I snap, shrugging him away easily as I dart across the street.

"Takeru, don't listen to—,"

"_Shut up, Yamato_!"

"I'm trying to help you!" he shouts back angrily.

_That_ does it: I snap.

"Don't you get it?" I spin around, glaring furiously. "I don't _want_ your help! I don't want anything from you! Just leave me the hell alone!"

"Not until we talk about this!" he refuses.

I stare at him in total shock, unable to believe he can't understand what I'm feeling, what I need right now. And right now—I don't need _him_. I don't need the way he tries to solve all my problems for me, the way he thinks he can keep me safe from everything, the way he tries to protect me from the world. I don't need that, and I don't want that. Why can't he just understand? Why won't he just let me go?

Giving up, I turn away. He catches my arm to keep me from leaving, but I turn and slam my fist into his face. He staggers back, clutching his jaw, blinking the stinging stars from his eyes.

"_Takeru_!"

"I said, _leave me alon_e," I say coldly.

He stands in complete surprise. And it isn't even the fact that he's being the kind of considerate, understanding older brother any hurting sibling would kill for—it's the fact that he's looking at mewith an expression I don't want to see, because I know it's all my fault. I can literally see the pain in his eyes.

"Takeru…."

But I shake my head violently, rubbing my nose. It's a habit I have when I'm trying not to cry.

Yamato tries to say something, stepping closer, but I immediately back away and scowl at him angrily. Without another word, I turn and disappear into the afternoon crowd, leaving him behind.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6: Jyou

**Done That**

* * *

Women, fame, and money. Things normal guys would enjoy. But Taichi, Takeru, Jyou and Yamato, four frustrated, desperate, clueless, and indecisive young men, are just about ready to throw in the chips. AU Sequel to 'Been There.' 

**Disclaimer**: I don't own.

**Author's Note**: Okay, so I checked the stats on this story and wasmortified to see that the number of hits for the first chapter at that time was 666.I took it as a threat to update.

* * *

Everyone knows Taichi's the workaholic in our group, but nobody really knows that I think I've spent more time at the hospital than he has at the office. But that's mostly because I'm always the on-call doctor, and that means I usually get called in to work at exactly the wrong moment. 

Take, for example, what happened this afternoon.

I was eating lunch from this sidewalk vender, something I normally don't do at all (I shudder just thinking I caved this time) because germs and I don't get along and Tokyo is most definitely chalk full of suspicious characters positively reeking with suspicious bacteria. I try to avoid eating out whenever I can, but I'm not a very good cook and my parents have this thing against spending "unnecessary" money so I avoid costly restaurants usually, too. I only resort to this when I'm extremely rushed, and today was the kind that would shame American television's _ER_. I could only give myself ten minutes for lunch, and the cafeteria at the hospital was far too crowded for a quick bite. So I ventured out into the tainted world and this vender was the first thing I found.

I promptly threw aside my dignity and self-respect and ordered almost everything. I was starved, and I knew that I wouldn't be able to eat again until I got of my shift late that evening.

So I stood there on the sidewalk, trying to avoid the steady stream of pedestrians passing by in front me as I eat. I finished quickly and then threw my trash away while buying a bottle of water from another vender. And that was when I saw him.

Takeru was practically charging through the crowd on the other side of the street from me, his head bowed and his shoulders hunched. I couldn't see his face, but by the way he walked I knew something serious is going on. I frowned, capping my water bottle and preparing to go after him, concerned.

But then he turned the corner and ran right into a young woman carrying an armful of grocery bags. The produce scattered on the ground and the woman fell with it, surprised. Takeru began to apologize, but at the same time I recognized the woman so did he, and he sank to his knees beside her, took her face in his hands, and kissed her full on the mouth. And I mean, he literally _grabbed_ her and kissed her _passionately_, like he'd been waiting for it _all_ his life.

And she didn't push him away.

I couldn't move.

I just stood, frozen where I was, and watched her small arms slip around his neck and bring him close, his hands holding her just as tightly. And even though passersby were snapping rude comments for the way they took up the entire sidewalk, the two of them ignored it all, ignored all of reality itself.

My pager went off.

I jumped, literally, shocked. My heart was beating wildly when I looked down and saw that the hospital was calling me back. I made sure they knew I'd gotten the call and then glanced up again.

Takeru and Sumiko were already gone, the groceries forgotten on the sidewalk.

Feeling dazed, I retraced my steps back to the hospital, stumbling into the emergency room. A nurse spotted me right away and clasped my arm, dragging me towards one of the triage rooms and blabbering about the patient waiting for me inside. I tried to focus, I really did, but I couldn't. I felt like I was walking in a dream. I was certain, absolutely certain that I hadn't seen what I thought I saw; it didn't happen. And it—

_Christ_.

What was I going to do?

"Dr. Kido!" came the angry interruption, and I guilty snapped out of my daze and looked down to see the nurse glaring at me. "Feel like coming back to Earth now?"

I winced at the sarcasm.

Well, what I was going to do was fall back into the comfort of consistency—of my routine. So I charged head-on into my work, determined to push all else aside.

In hindsight, I suppose it's rather impressive how I can detach myself from the world like that. I knew I should be doing something else, but that something else was something I'd sooner avoid, so I fell back on my work like a coward.

I wonder if that's why Taichi does it. It's so easy to get wrapped in work, in getting things done. It's a sense of accomplishment, of the belief that what you're doing matters more than anything else because for once in your life you've got control over something you have the right to be in control of. Well, maybe _that's _why Taichi spends so much time doing his job, the control thing. But as I think about it now, I think for me it has more to do with the being part of a bigger picture idea. That what I'm doing gives me a purpose. That I matter to someone, to these people who rely on me to make them better, to take charge, to solve the crisis and conquer the evil foe and return them safely home in the arms of the people they love.

And that's what really matters in the end, and that's the reason I secretly don't mind spending so much time at the hospital. I remember discussing something like this with Sora the day of Miyako's party, while we were still in her apartment. She said that if I care so much about the humanitarian part of medicine, that I should probably consider working for a humanitarian organization. Not that hospitals aren't, she'd added. But still, there was more I could do that would probably make me feel even more confident about the work I do.

I suppose she has a point. But I don't know if I'm willing to leave all this. I don't know what I'd do without my routine, even if I do enjoy the helping others part more than helping myself. But then, isn't helping others helping yourself?

It's thoughts like these that keep me up at night.

As you can see, my work is my life, literally.

I think I need a healthy distraction.

I sigh now, sitting back in my chair, alone in my office for the moment. A glance at the clock on the wall reveals it's almost ten at night, which means I should have gone home three hours ago. See what being the on-call doctor can do to you? I take off my glasses to rub at my face, exhausted.

Then I frown, remembering what I'd seen that afternoon for what must be the millionth time that day, unable to put it off or ignore it any longer.

So Takeru had kissed her. But she had kissed him back. And neither one of them had stopped it. Did that mean—?

I groan, shaking my head.

Why did _I_ have to see it? Why me? Why not someone like—well, someone who could actually do something about it, someone like—

Oh, who am I kidding? I can't honestly be this cowardly, can I?

_And Sora thinks you'd be better off in some non-profit organization. She'd totally balk if she knew how you're acting now._

But it isn't my business.

I can't very well throw myself into something I'm not even entirely sure about, especially when the consequences are this heavy.

Besides, I'm sure it wasn't intentional. Takeru's not that kind of guy, and Sumiko's the one of the sweetest girls I've met. I just know there's much more to what happened than what I can assume and who am I to judge anyway?

Still...

I can't very well _ignore_ it all, either.

I shut my eyes, grimacing. _Jesus Christ, Takeru, she's _married_…. __What the hell are you thinking?_

Feeling a surge of determination, I grab the phone and dial his cell phone number. I wait impatiently, formulating my speech in my head, ready to tell him exactly what I think about all this, assumptions and judgments aside. Bottom line is that Daisuke trusts him. And there is no way I could live with myself just sitting back and watching him ruin that very trust.

But all I get is his voicemail, in which he politely tells me to leave a message and that he'd get back as soon as humanely possible.

Right.

_Takeru, it's Jyou. Nothing important, just had one small question: are you sleeping with your best friend's wife? _

I must be insane.

So I hang up without leaving a message,but I pick it up again and hold it for along time.

I work up the nerve to try again, but he still doesn't answer.

Oh, God. What if they're—?

_Stop, stop, _stop! _Do_ not_ finish that thought!_ _Takeru would _never_ do that! Sumiko would never do anything like that! They're _friends_ and nothing more, because they both care about Daisuke very, very much and they'd never hurt him. And you _know_ that._

Don't I?

The phone rings in my hands and for the second time that day I'm completely caught of guard, trying not to leap out of my chair. Reminding myself to work on my reflexes, I answer carefully, cautiously.

"Hello?"

"Jyou! Bad time?"

"Er—no," I say. "Is something wrong?"

"Well," Yamato hesitates, "I've just—I was wondering if you'd by any remote chance seen Takeru today?"

It's official.

God hates me.

"Why?" I ask, trying to avoid the question.

Unfortunately, Yamato knows me better than I do myself sometimes. He's one of those rare types of friends who's incredibly perceptive about the most annoying things, though you'll usually end up being grateful he forces you to face up to what you're trying to ignore, for your own sake.

I can almost hear him roll his eyes. "Because I'm looking for him," he answers shortly.

"Did—did something happen?"

He sighs.

"Jyou—,"

"It was just a question…."

He pauses. "Fine. We sort of got into a fight this morning."

I perk up, interested. "Really?"

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure he's trying to avoid me, but this is important and I have to talk to him."

"Well, if he's not ready to talk, maybe you should give it a break for a few days."

"That's what Hikari said," he grumbles. "But I can't. You guys don't understand. This isn't just another fight."

"What happened?"

"Something stupid my—_his_ mother told him. I can't believe she told him that. Doesn't she know him at all? You don't tell Takeru things like that and expect him to not overreact, and you can't trust that he'll be okay right away. That's not the kind of person he is. He's not as strong as he wants to be—,"

"And there's your problem," I interrupt.

He stops. "What?"

I frown into the phone. "That's your problem, Yamato. You make him out to be this helpless, hopeless little brother who's absolutely lost without any guidance."

By the silence, I judge I've hit a chord.

"Look," I add, "Takeru may not be the greatest when it comes to handling unexpected situations, but you've got to learn to trust him to do what he thinks is right. That's the only way he can grow up, Yamato. And you've got let him grow up. Even if it means he stops needing you."

He says nothing.

"Trust me, I've got two older brothers. I think I kinda get what he must be trying to do, avoiding you like this. It's not personal; he's just trying to tell you he needs space, time to work things out, a chance to do something on his own for once. You understand?"

Yamato still doesn't say anything.

I wait, chewing on my lip.

"Yamato?"

"I'm still here," he says softly.

"I didn't mean—,"

"No, no…you're right," he mumbles. "I just…. Dammit, I hate this."

"Yeah," I smile. "I know."

He takes a deep breath. "Well, if you do see him, will you at least tell him to give me a call when he's ready?"

"Sure," I agree, hating the way the word sticks to my throat, the way I'm praying to God that I don't see Takeru before _I'm_ ready.

He's quiet again.

"Do you think I'm a good brother, Jyou?"

I blink, surprised.

"Of course, Yamato."

"Really?" He sounds very tired.

"Yes."

He doesn't say anything more about it. With a finally thanks and a goodbye, he hangs up, obviously still troubled by the matter. I wish I'd held my tongue. Maybe it was something Yamato needed to hear, but I'll bet it wasn't the best way to say it. I can't understand how I can be so bluntly honest about certain things, and yet struggle with the truth about everything else, everything that seems to actually matter.

I glance at the clock again.

Quarter past eleven.

I should really get home.

So I settle my things, packing up, checking my emails one last time.

I'm surprised by a new message in my inbox. Curious, I click on it, reading:

_Dr. Kido,_

_It's come to our attentions of your recent inquiries for a transfer to our hospital. While the board at your current location expresses regret of the loss of such an outstanding medical worker, we've reviewed your record which comes highly recommended by several well-known physicians around the city. We are interested in looking more into your position and would like to meet with you as soon as possible. Please call our secretary to set up an appointment at your earliest convenience. Again, we are very impressed with your work so far and look forward to helping you in your career in any way we can. Thank you._

_Dr. Watanabe Kiyoshi  
__Executive Chair, Board of Directors  
__University of Tokyo Hospital_

I think I've died and gone to heaven.

I leap out of my chair and scream "_Yes_!" to the ceiling, jumping around, when I'm rudely interrupted by an anxious knock on the door.

I'm so excited, I don't even care that I have to get back to work.

Grinning, I reach for my stethoscope and answer the door.

I stop dead in my tracks.

In the hallway stand Ken and Daisuke, the former looking very worried and the latter fuming under his breath. I'm about to ask what's wrong when I see it on Daisuke's hand: it's a tangled mess of soggy cloth and he's still bleeding, his shirt stained where he's pressing his wrist to his stomach tightly. I gawk.

"_Daisuke_! What—?"

"The crazy bitch bit me," he grumbles, wincing from the pain.

I stare, baffled.

Now, I know he and Sumiko are having problems, but I would say name-calling is pretty uncalled for, even if she did…_bite_ him? _What the—?_

Ken seems to sense my confusion and hastily explains, "We found a dog hanging around the apartment building. When we tried to pick it up and take it to the pound, it—well, you can see."

Here Daisuke offers his hand as Exhibit A, and I gag when I see the vicious teeth marks.

I quickly motion for him to follow me down the hall to a triage roome, assembling the needed materials. Ken hesitates in the doorway. "I need to get back to the apartment and assure Miyako the dog's been taken care of, but I'll be back in a bit," he says. He glances at Daisuke. "You'll be okay—?"

"Oh, sure, don't worry about me," he interrupts moodily. "Tell Miyako I can still hand you the dumb ring at the dumb ceremony, if that's what she's _really_ worried about…."

Ken gives me a sympathetic look, as though he truly regrets having to dump me with his grumpy best friend, but I smile back reassuringly. Compared to all the patients I usually face day by day, Daisuke will be a cinch.

I seat Daisuke in a chair and rest his arm on the table, standing while I carefully wipe the blood away to inspect the cut.

"Ow," he winces, biting his lip, when I poke and prod a little too hard.

"Sorry. Well, lucky for you, it doesn't look that deep. I think you'll need stitches, though."

"Awesome," is the curt reply.

I sigh, used to the attitude from other patients. The best thing to do, I've found, is to just ignore it, work and pretend it's another exam you have to pass for medical school. That way the stress of the patient's attitude turns into something I can actually handle. And never let it be said I can't deal with academic-related stress. I think I invented it.

So I tune him and his ramblings out, faking an interest in his highly dramatized and exaggerated version of the attack and focus solely on sewing his hand up. Before I know it, the one-sided conversation fades into a fully and detailed summary of Daisuke's entire day. I let him babble, knowing that he is the sort of guy who felt better about unfortunate situations by talking about it, and he hardly ever held anything back. I have to admit I wish I were more like him sometimes. The willingness to admit the truth all the time part, at least. Not the rambling.

Ah well, Daisuke _is_ Daisuke, after all, and despite everything we say or think, we all really do cherish the bloke.

Then he catches my attention immediately when he mentions Takeru's name and something about tickets to a football match the blonde had promised him and how he felt now was the time to his friend up on the offer, only he couldn't find Takeru anywhere and neither had Ken or Hikari, and had I heard from him lately?

I freeze.

"I should probably try the newspaper," Daisuke goes on without skipping a beat. "And I was going there before the stupid dog went and attacked me. I don't think I have any time to go now. I guess I can leave him another message on his cell, right? It's weird, 'cause he always either answers or replies right away, since he's got a lot of appointments and whatnot to keep up with, being a reporter and all. At least that's what Hikari says he does. She says his not answering isn't like him at all, and I think I got her all worried, too, so I'm trying to find him to reassure her. Still, I hope he's okay. Maybe Yamato will know something—,"

But I'm not listening.

I shut my eyes.

I should tell him.

I really should.

"Daisuke?" I interrupt suddenly.

"Yeah?" he asks cheerily, unknowingly.

I should tell him.

I really should.

"Nothing," I mumble, turning back around to finish applying the gauze to his hand, determined not to look him in the eye until Ken finally returns to take him back to the apartment. I can't even answer when he says goodbye. I can barely look at him, ashamed and guilty and angry.

God must really hate me.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7: Yamato

**Done That**

* * *

Women, fame, and money. Things normal guys would enjoy. But Taichi, Takeru, Jyou and Yamato, four frustrated, desperate, clueless, and indecisive young men, are just about ready to throw in the chips. AU Sequel to 'Been There.' 

**Disclaimer**: I don't own.

**Author's Note**: This chapter's a bit heavy with a lot of different things, so I apologize if it gets a little confusing or fast-paced, but things will settle down once I get through the crisis. I do have a plan, relax.

* * *

I don't get him. 

I _really_ don't.

He practically waltzes through the goddamn door at six in the morning, unannounced and without even a single call to ease our worried hearts, barely even glancing at me sitting up on the couch waiting for him, and it's now four in the afternoon and he _still_ hasn't gotten out of bed.

He's doing this on purpose. Just to spite me. I know it.

Listen, I know what Jyou said was right. I know I'm being difficult and overprotective, but people don't know Takeru the way I do. I don't care if we grew up in separate homes; he's still my brother and I still know him better than half his friends, if not all.

Don't I?

Because even though I've been sitting here convincing myself it isn't true, Takeru's growing apart from me. I don't know when it happened, and I don't know how. Suddenly, we're not the same. We're not close anymore.

And I don't get it.

_How the hell did this happen?_

Was I not there for him enough times? Did I let him down somehow? Did I fail him, hurt him, force him to act like this somehow? I just don't understand what I did _wrong_….

Hikari says I haven't done anything wrong.

She's sitting there, on the sofa across from me, carrying her giant blue tote bag that she carries to work everyday. It's crammed with colored sheets of construction paper, the newest masterpieces of her second-grade class. One of the children had drawn a picture of Takeru, lopsided and out of proportion, decked out in a samurai outfit. Takeru dresses up as one those Japanese warriors every year for Hikari's class when it comes to national holiday and history lessons, and apparently the kids adore him. She stopped by after school to give Takeru the picture. We've been sitting it the living room waiting for the journalist to reveal himself in all his blonde glory, but so far neither of us has heard one sound from behind the closed bedroom door.

I sigh, slouching back into the sofa.

Hikari looks at me sympathetically.

"You don't have to stay," I mumble to her. "I can give him the picture whenever he decides to grace us with his presence…."

Declining the offer politely, she glances wistfully at Takeru's door.

"You don't think he's doing this because of what your mother told you two?"

I'd explained the situation to her, so I knew what she was implying, but I simply shrug now.

"I don't know. And I hate that I don't know." I tilt my head back to glare at the ceiling, needing something to blame.

"You can't do everything, Yamato," she says softly. "Sometimes things happen that we can't change."

I frown. "You're wrong. I can change this; I can figure this out. I just need him to give me the _chance_."

And then, her expression relaxes into realization and Hikari seems to understand where my real fear lies. I don't think I'll ever understand how she does that, how she can dig through the words and gestures and discover what her friends are really trying to say, what they really mean. It's incredible.

She leans forward, meeting my gaze firmly.

"Takeru loves you, Yamato. I know he does. He knows he does, and so do you. But that doesn't mean there aren't going to be times in your lives when you want to do everything _but_ care for each other. That's when the test of true friendship and loyalty comes—when you're willing to stand by and for and with the person who's hurting you the most."

It's actually a deeply moving speech, and I want to tell her as much, but I suddenly all I seem to see is how very bright her light brown eyes are, how delicate and fragile but so confidently strong she is at the same time. It's strange to think she and Taichi share the same genes—or anything at all, for that matter. Besides a stubborn streak of loyalty and passion, they could very well pass for strangers. Whereas he's darker, taller, and rough-and-rugged on the edges, she's a porcelain doll.

I smack myself mentally, tearing my gaze away when I suddenly realize how long I've been looking at her like that. _Bad thoughts, bad_, I scold myself, unnerved. _She's your best friend's _sister_. And the age difference is what? Christ, if this was ten or something years ago, it would be _illegal_, you idiot._

Why am I even thinking about this?

I grit my teeth, frustrated, and she mistakes my expression.

"Maybe I should go," she says quickly, standing, a little alarmed.

I jump up. "No, wait, I wasn't—that wasn't about what you said—," I try to explain.

"Well, I should probably be getting back, anyway," she interrupts hastily. "It's my turn to make dinner."

She walks to the door, stepping around me, and I watch her go for a minute, confused.

"Hikari," I call out to her.

She stops, glancing back, cautious.

But I just smile at her. "Thanks."

Her apprehension and worry visibly melts from her face. "That's what friends do for each other," she says.

"Yeah…."

_Friends_.

She looks at me and I look back, feeling awkward.

"Well—,"

"Kari—,"

"Yamato?" a new voice gasps, and we both look up sharply to see a very disheveled-looking Takeru standing in the hallway.

He looks like hell.

"Takeru," Hikari gasps.

He shuts his eyes. "Yamato, I don't—I don't feel so good…."

I snap back to reality, bounding over to his side to grab his arm. I put a hand up to his forehead. Definite fever.

He sways, drowsy, and I tighten my grip around him to steady him.

"Come on, back to bed," I order, dragging him to his room. Hikari follows, chewing her bottom lip worriedly. She helps Takeru sit back down on his unkempt bed, the sheets and blankets thrown all over. Actually, the entire room is a mess, which makes little sense. Takeru always was the neater one.

I step over the scatterings of letters, newspapers, random trash, cups, plates, and clothes to the bedroom window to open it for some air circulation. Then I turn back around, surveying the unusually chaotic state of his room. What the hell had he been doing?

I glance up, seeing Hikari gently coaxing him to lie back down, though he's mumbling protests under his breath weakly. She leans down to whisper something in his ear and he stops struggling, stops talking. He just lies there, so pale the blue of his eyes seem so surreal, and his expression more broken than I'd ever seen him before. My breath catches in my throat, horrified. He shuts his eyes to keep from meeting my gaze as I return to his side, and I can see his chin trembling, his jaw clenched.

I exchange looks with Hikari. She whispers something about getting medicine for a fever, then lightly brushes her lips over his forehead, squeezing his hand tightly. I bite my lip, knowing it's dumb to feel something over the way she treats him so affectionately, knowing they're best friends and nothing more, catching myself wondering if that means we have to be that way, too. I mentally slap myself out of it, feeling even more stupid.

I shake the thoughts off, glancing down at my brother.

"Takeru, talk to me," I say slowly. "Please?"

He doesn't reply, doesn't open his eyes. Instead, he rolls over on his stomach and buries his face in his pillow, holding his breath.

I sigh, "Takeru…."

"Is it really this impossible for you to leave people alone?" he asks, most of his words barely decipherable in the pillow.

And despite the fact that his voice sounds strangely flat, I have to smile at the comment. "Even more so when a fist or two is involved."

He says nothing.

I sit on the edge of his bed. "What happened with Dad and Natsuko is not your fault," I tell him in all seriousness. "It doesn't work like that."

He lies there quietly, but at least I know he's listening to me.

I go on, "No matter what she said, she was wrong. You're not a mistake and they did want you. Children aren't mistakes, no matter how much of a pain in the ass they can be, and you are most definitely a huge pain sometimes. But that doesn't change anything, Takeru. You had nothing to do what happened between them. That is their problem, their relationship, and their decision."

"Yeah," he says finally, "but I was part of that decision."

"Takeru—,"

"Just face it, Yamato. I was a reason. I just made something difficult all the more worse for them…."

I try to swallow my anger, but it's not directed at him anyway.

"They're just lies. If a marriage is doomed to end, then there's nothing anyone else outside the relationship can do to stop it or save it, nothing. It' sup to the two people themselves to change things. You can't blame yourself for what happened to our parents, Takeru. You just can't."

He's silent, and I resign myself to the fact that there's little else for me to do now to convince him of the truth. So I leave it alone, reluctant, watching him. And it takes me several minutes to realize he's crying.

"God, I'm a wreck," he stammers out, voice thick with tears and emotions, "I messed everything up, Yamato, I screwed everything up—,"

I blink, surprised.

"Takeru—," I try to interrupt.

He shakes his head violently, refusing to listen. "I'm screwing everything up, _everything_—God, I hate this, I _hate_ what I'm doing—I don't want to be this, I don't—I don't—,"

"Takeru, tell me what's wrong," I say quickly, concerned, clasping him by the shoulder. "Just tell me—,"

But he doesn't, and he won't, and he just shoves reality away again and buries his face in the pillow, gripping the corners tightly, shaking. That's when Hikari returns, holding a glass of water and pills for the fever, which she miraculously talks him into taking. While he struggles back into a fitful sleep, I take Hikari by the wrist and pull her out of the room. "I'm calling Jyou," I tell her, "and I'm bringing him straight here. Something's wrong with him—,"

"Do you want me to stay with him?" she interrupts, already recognizing where my train of thought is heading.

I nod gratefully.

"No problem," she says, dropping all her things on the couch.

"Thanks, Kar," I reply sincerely, and she flashes me a quick smile, happy to help. Still holding her by the arm, I kiss her cheek. "I'll be right back."

And then I turn on my heel and walk out the door. Halfway to the elevator, I seethe mechanic working on the open doors and I frown.

"What's going on?" I ask him.

"Elevator's jammed," the man replies shortly, irritated, probably already having had to explain that several times since it broke in the afternoon. "Sorry, kid, you'll have to take the stairs."

I mutter a thanks and then hurry down the steps, fishing out my cell phone. Jyou answers on the third ring. He sounds like he's just woken up.

"Hello?" he says groggily.

"Jyou, it's Yamato."

"Yamato who?"

"Jyou, wake up, I need you. Takeru's sick—you have to come look at him."

There's a bit of a silence.

"Jyou? Are you there?"

"What does he have?" my friend asks slowly, carefully.

I'm getting impatient, walking out onto the street and immediately hailing a cab. "How the hell should I know? A fever or something, delirium maybe? But he's acting completely wrong, and he's definitely stressed and I don't know what to do.I need you toget over here."

"Have you given him medicine, antibiotics?"

"Of course I have, but I don't know if it's working—,"

"You have to wait these sort of things out, Yamato. It'll take time for the medicine to kick in, you know that."

I stop abruptly, standing on the sidewalk. The taxi-driver throws me a look, waiting.

"What's the matter with you? I just need your help—,"

"There's little I can do."

"Jyou, you're a fucking _doctor_. What's going on?"

The silence lingers and I frown into my phone. "Jyou? Hello?"

"Nothing, never mind," he mutters. "I'll be right there."

"Get to your lobby. I'll waiting in a cab outside your building."

He agrees and we hang up.

I stare at my phone. That's weird. I'd never seen him act like that before.

Finally, the taxi arrives at the apartment complex and we pick up Jyou, who's strangely quiet through the ride back to Takeru's flat as I explain to him what I know so far. I tell him I speculate that all his issues with our parents' failed marriage might be putting him under this stress, but he doesn't answer, so I can only assume it's true. Nothing else would make sense. The newspaper's doing fine. He hasn't mentioned anything else that's bugging him. And I for one know how idealistic he can be about things, and how helpless he must feel when everything just seeems to be crashing down all at once. But this is different. It's like he's breaking to pieces right before our very eyes, over something I can't begin to understand. And I hate that I don't understand.

Back at the apartment, we take the stairs up to the right floor and Hikari opens the door for us. She nods a hello at Jyou and leads him into Takeru's bedroom, where my brother seems to be sleeping. He's sweating now, his face scrunched up like he's in pain, and he falls in and out of a light, weary doze. Jyou just looks at him for a minute, then bends to feels his forehead with the back of his hand. Fever, he agrees, and worries aloud that it might be the flu or some other kind of virus. He says it's been going around, the flu has, and that Takeru must have caught it somehow. Then he asks us to leave so he can talk to Takeru alone, figure this out.

Hikari and I move back into the living room, feeling rather useless, waiting. I glance at her casually.

She's chewing on her lip again, nibbling her nails absent-mindedly. I instinctively reach out and pull her hand away.

"Don't do that," I tell her, smiling a little.

She smiles back distractedly.

'I don't know what could have happened," she says, "and now I feel guilty—I'm one of his best friends, I should have known if he was getting sick or having problems—,"

"Hey, I'm his brother, flesh and blood, and I had no idea," I mutter, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans.

"Well, you aren't exactly around much," she starts to say, and then stops, clapping a hand over her mouth, horrified.

I wince. "So I've heard…."

"No, wait, Yamato, I didn't mean it. I just—Takeru mentioned it once and—,"

"He did?" I ask, curious.

She flushes. "Well, yes. But he understands why you can't be, of course. Obviously you two are growing up and you have your own lives. He knows that. We all do."

I look down.

"Yeah…."

"I didn't mean anything by it," she insists earnestly.

I don't say anything, until I realize she's practically radiating guilt. I try to reassure her, "Hikari, don't worry.I understand."

She scrunches her nose. "Why do I always say these kinds of things to you?" she asks suddenly, brooding to herself, and then reddens, horrified for the second time in the past five minutes.

I can't help it—I have to laugh.

I'm about to apologize when she blushes even more, trying to tell her I'm not laughing at her, but I'm interrupted by a loud, " I told you I can't!" from Takeru's bedroom.

Before I can even react, Jyou storms out of the room, looking sour and scared.

"What—?" I try to ask, dumbfounded.

"I can't help him," he says hurriedly, tugging on his jacket as he makes for the door.

"But—,"

"I'm not getting involved, Yamato," he interrupts with grave finality. "It's his problem; let him deal with it. I'm not helping him."

"_Jyou_!" Takeru yells from the doorway. He's standing there, blue eyes wide. "You don't understand, I _can't_. It'll _kill_ him. Don't you get it? _It'll kill him_—,"

Jyou stops to look at him sadly.

"And who's to blame if it does or doesn't? Who's going to lie to him? How long are we going to pretend?"

Takeru shuts up, pale except for the feverish red in his cheeks.

Jyou shakes his head, disappointed and worried. Without another glance back at my brother, he mutters some basic instructions for curing the fever and says he's sorry. Before I can ask why, he leaves the flat, and we're left to listen to his footstep fade in the silence.

I stare at Takeru.

"What the hell was that about?" I demand, perhaps more loudly than what's necessary, which is no doubt the reason Hikari frowns at little at me with disapproval and intervenes to talk Takeru back into his room. I try to follow them in, but she shakes her head at me and tells me to wait outside, she'll handle this.

So I wait again, confused and frustrated.

Finally, when I can take it no more, I try to enter his room and force him to talk to me and put an end to this once and for all, but once again Hikari appears to stop me, pressing a hand to my chest as she ushers backwards out of his room.

"Let him sleep," she interrupts when I try to protest.

I stomp away, stressed out from the frustration and tension.

"Yamato—," she calls after me, but I shake my head, leaving the flat altogether to go—well, I don't care. To go somewhere. Somewhere back when things made sense, when my family actually made sense before everything just started to spin out of control. How do we do these things to each other? Hurt each other, keep secrets, lie and forgive each other and then do it all over again?

I sit on top of the stairs, staring down the staircase tiredly. I rub my face.

I can sense her near me before I feel her small, comforting hand on my shoulder, before she comes to seat herself beside me and reassuringly rubs my arm.

"I hate what's happening to us, to Takeru and me," I mutter into my fingers, eyes closed. "I don't even know when it started."

She doesn't say anything, listening.

"Why doesn't he need me anymore?"

She leans forward to whisper in my ear, "He does, Yamato. You're his brother. He'll always need you. Even when he thinks he doesn't."

I sigh. "Well, he's doing a good job of pretending he doesn't…."

She smiles.

"That's where you're wrong. He's doing an awful job, and it's up to you to show him it's okay, that you'll be here no matter what. I think that's what he needs the most."

I don't say anything, lowering my hands to drape my arms over my knees.

"You know, I think you're worse than Taichi," she says after a moment.

I raise an eyebrow. "I'm taking that personally."

She laughs.

"What I mean is that you always take it upon yourself to help the people you care about, no matter the cost. You _look_ to help people. And though you think you fail sometimes, you really don't, because every little bit is more than enough. But what makes you different than Tai is that you don't realize how much of an impact you really have, and you really do, Yamato. You try and take on the whole world and you won't give yourself a break, and you can't see that the people you want to help most are trying so very desperately to help you, too."

I'm staring at her, speechless. She smiles at me.

"You're good enough just the way you are, Yamato. You don't have to prove yourself to your friends."

A voice in my head is vaguely saying yes, but I'm still just staring at her, mesmerized, captivated.

Hikari's just…_different_. She really is something else. And I feel like the biggest idiot on the planet for waiting so long to see it.

I'm kissing her before I even remember telling myself to, and though she's suddenly gone still, she hasn't pushed me back or stopped it, so I gently press my lips to hers again, deepening the kiss.

And then she stands, so quickly I almost pitch forward down the stairs. I brace myself on the opposite wall, scrambling to my feet, real-life slapping me across the face.

"Hikari, wait—," I gasp, trying to recover from that kiss still.

She's already heading for the apartment, but I grasp her by the wrist. She stops, frozen, not looking at me.

"Hikari—,"

"It's okay, I understand," she interrupts as though she's expecting what I'll say. I stop, staring at her curiously, letting go of her arm. "I didn't mean it either—,"

"But I did."

It slips out so suddenly and surely there's no taking it back, no covering up my tracks, no saving face. But I don't care very much. She slowly turns around to face me. Her eyes are wide and bright. I stare right back, most likely mirroring her expression. I take a step back, holding onto the railing, dazed. I can barely even keep track of what's happening—from my mother, to Takeru, to Jyou, to Hikari—everything's like a blur, a mess of extremes and complications.

But then I look at her, look into her face, and things just seem so unfairly simple.

"Yamato—," she starts suddenly, and I look up, hopeful.

She stares at me for a minute, a small frown tugging at her lips. Then she shakes her head and launches herself at me. In my haste to meet her kiss halfway, I step forward, letting go of the railing to hold her face properly. I must have taken a wrong step, I don't know—but suddenly there's no ground for my foot to fall on and when I try, I slip on the step and feel myself crumble to the ground in shock. It doesn't even stop there: I trip again, making a badly coordinated grab for the railing before missing and pitching backwards down the stairs.

She screams my name when I finally hit the ground, slumped awkwardly against the wall, the breath knocked out of my lungs and unable to move or feel anything.

And I'm in so much pain I think I'm going to hurl, but for the life of me I can't get this stupid grin off my face.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8: Taichi

**Done That**

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Women, fame, and money. Things normal guys would enjoy. But Taichi, Takeru, Jyou and Yamato, four frustrated, desperate, clueless, and indecisive young men, are just about ready to throw in the chips. AU Sequel to 'Been There

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**Disclaimer**: I don't own. 

**Author's Note**: Wrote this up after listening to Staind's "Right Here". (Hint, hint...)

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My sister—my dear sweet adorable younger sibling—sent my best friend to the hospital last week with bruised ribs, a slight concussion, and a leg broken in two places. 

She's _horrified_.

She visits him daily and calls him all the time, simmering in guilt and worry. I'm not entirely sure what happened since she won't tell me, but I'm still trying to swallow the fact that my gentle kid sister did this to Ishida Yamato, up-and-coming indie rock star extraordinaire.

Well, until now. He obviously can't go on tour or do any shows in his current state. Apparently, his manager's giving him hell for that, but it's not like either of them can do anything about it. Instead, he's confined to the spare bedroom in Takeru's apartment while Takeru's bedridden with the flu in his own room. Hikari and Sora are taking turns checking in on them, successfully transforming the little flat into some kind of hospital ward (Iori's moved in with Koushiro, not wanting to get Takeru's flu, leaving me to wonder where the hell am I supposed to go when I get back—decisions, decisions).

Unfortunately, the fact that Yamato can't carry on with his music like this makes Hikari feel even _more_ terrible, which makes Yamato feel terrible for making _her_ feel terrible, which makes _her_ feel terrible for making _him_ feel terrible about _her_ feeling terrible, which makes—

Okay, you get the idea.

I smirk to myself, amused by the complications, lying in Mimi's bed.

Then I stop, remembering where I am.

I look at the clock. 4:58. _Damn_.

Hopefully I can sneak back into the living room without waking her parents. I've only not succeeded once, and then I managed to convince her mother I was returning from the bathroom, not her daughter's bedroom. I don't think they've realized that I actually sleep in Mimi's room and then wake up in time to pretend to have been sleeping in the living room all night. But there's just no way in hell I'm sitting out in the open like an easy target. I know how to pick my fights, and standing up to her parents (specifically her father) would have to be suicide. I am not _that_ stupid.

On the upside, I'm getting pretty good at this. I've already set up a fairly dependable routine:

Usually, after leaving Mimi's room, I'll pretend to be asleep until I hear her father get up and move around. That's my cue to jump out of my makeshift fold-out bed and dive for the shower, and then I wait at least ten minutes more before getting out of the bathroom, knowing Keisuke will still be in it. Then I go to Mimi and wake her up, and that'll take a good twenty minutes, allowing me to avoid going into the kitchen for coffee until after Satoe's had her cup and returned to her room and Keisuke, freshened up, leaves the bedroom to get his coffee and sit out on the balcony while he reads the paper.

By that time, I've sweet-talked Mimi into dragging herself out of bed, and I'll go get some cereal or fruit and coffee while I wait for her. Right on time, Mimi gets out of the bathroom and returns to her bedroom at the exact moment Satoe emerges from the shower, and I have to sit quietly and invisibly while her mother makes a proper breakfast for the family. When she's almost done, Mimi will call me back into her room to ask for some help with a zipper or a tag or whatever the case may be. She takes at least a half hour more before she's dressed and ready, but I don't really mind watching and listening to her chatter while she puts on her—well, whatever the hell that makeup junk is. (Don't see why she needs it, but then I know if I bug her about it she'll threaten me with a haircut, and that's just low.) When she's done, Satoe and Keisuke have already eaten and are sipping tea on the balcony, leaving us kids to our breakfast in the sitting area, after which I can usually convince her to go out with me some where. Odds are, the outing will last until the late afternoon and we'll have a late lunch before returning to the apartment. Sometimes Mimi will help her mother make dinner, sometimes she'll do the newspaper's crossword with her father, or sometimes she'll just want to curl up on the couch and watch mindless television, and I can usually busy myself with office work via Mimi's borrowed computer and my cell phone.

That takes us until dinnertime, which we'll eat together, but Mimi always comes to my rescue and strikes up enough conversation to cover for me as well, and I can pass through the meal with little obstacles. After that, Keisuke and Satoe will probably go visit a few friends of theirs or have an after-dinner party with neighbors, and Mimi and I will tidy up and have the apartment to ourselves. Mind you, we've learned our lesson since the last time, and we usually end up renting a movie or going to see a late show out in the local theatre, or taking a walk. Whatever the case, we're like that until her parents come home and retire to their bedroom while I set up the living room fold-out bed and prepare to go to sleep.

Then, when Keisuke shuts the door to his and his wife's room, I count to twenty and sneak into Mimi's room, crawl into bed with her, and breathe a huge sigh of relief.

And that is how I've spent my days this past week and a half.

Exciting, I know, but at least I'm still alive.

Reminding myself to be on my guard as I leave her bedroom, ready to fall back into routine for the last time, I roll over on my side and kiss Mimi's forehead. Today's our train back to Tokyo, and I can last until departure time in exactly…six hours and counting. And then no more parents and I can kiss her the way I want to instead dragging it all down several notches so as not to irk her father anymore than necessary.

The things I go through for this girl...

Shaking my head, I climb stealthily out of her bed, creeping across the room on tip-toe. I manage not to make the slightest noise until I reach the door and glance back at her once more—and promptly stub my toe in the door.

I yelp, then freeze, watching and listening.

But nothing happens.

I sigh, relieved.

And promptly melt into a puddle when I step into the hallway.

Keisuke is standing there, in front of the bathroom door, wearing a pink bathrobe over his dark green pajamas. Only he can make such an ensemble look so mortifyingly terrifying.

I can't speak.

I try, of course, hoping to lie and explain what I'm doing wandering the apartment at this hour, but it comes out a like a pathetic little squeak. (I'm only thankful that my business partners and boss can't see me like this. A businessman is risky and adventurous by nature, not afraid of anything, and certainly not his girlfriend's father. Then again, not everyone has Keisuke for their girlfriend's father.)

"Come with me," he orders, and then turns on his heel to march into the living room.

I'm thinking that it's common courtesy to allow one last call to the about-to-be nearest surviving kin, but I decide not to mention it.

I move like a robot, stiff and awkward, following him out into the balcony, breathing in the cool night air. It feels wonderful out here, and the view is amazing. For a minute, I'm lost in the initial emotions, wondering why it took me so long to realize something as simple as a sunset could feel and invoke such pleasure. Turning apprehensively, I glance at Keisuke, who's on the other side of the balcony calmly smoking a cigar, peering into the darkness.

I pause, waiting.

But he says nothing.

I stand around stupidly, trying to think of something to say. I blurt out finally, "Sir, may I ask why you hate me?"

Keisuke smirks. "Yes, you may," he says wryly, darkly.

In spite of myself, I smile at the response. It actually reminds me of what I would have said if someone approached me the way I had approached him. Taking the fact that he hasn't ignored, hit, or walked away from me as a good sign, I step forward a little, staying close to the railing.

"I love your daughter, Mr. Tachikawa," I affirm softly. "I just—I want you to know that I would never hurt her, that I'll always take care of her for you. And I—I need to know you understand that..."

He doesn't reply.

I sigh, disappointed, though I know I shouldn't have expected anything anyway.

"I don't hate you," he mutters just as I'm about to give up and turn away. I stop, glancing back at him, surprised. He inhales his cigar expertly. "I just wish—," he breaks off, thinking. "I wish it hadn't been you."

His words hurt more than I expect. I blink quickly, standing absolutely still.

Before I can speak, he adds, "I never thought I'd lose her to someone like you."

I stare, eyes wide.

_Lose her?_

"Sir, she's your _daughter_. You'll never lose her. She's yours, always," I assure, speaking out of reflex, battling memories of my parents during certain stages of my life when they felt the need to express their goodbyes as though they were about to lose me completely. But that was impossible. They're family, flesh and blood. It would be like losing myself. "I have no intention of replacing you," I add honestly, stammering a little out of shock.

He shakes his head.

"You already have."

I open my mouth to disagree, then stop, letting his words sink in.

Tachikawa Keisuke was _scared_.

Like me, he was terrified of losing someone he loved.

Only difference was, he already lost her.

To _me_.

"You're taking her away from us, and I can't do anything, because now you're the one she—," here, he stops, as though he can't even bring himself to say it.

I'm in total, speechless shock.

My mind is still blank when Mimi suddenly pokes her head through the sliding glass door, having seen me from inside the apartment, most likely. She leans against the door, still sleepy. But she smiles. "You wake me up leaving and then you don't even come back?" she says in that laughing, teasing tone of hers. She smiles brightly as she steps on to the balcony, apparently completely oblivious to the tension lingering in the air. Instead, she heads first and straight to me, kissing me on the mouth lightly. "Come back to bed."

When I don't say anything, she glances back, and her eyes widen when she sees her father standing not too far away. "Papa," she says, blushing. "I—I didn't see you—,"

Keisuke only smiles kindly at her. "We didn't mean to disturb your sleeping, sweetheart."

"Oh, you didn't," she insists. "I just—,"

But he nods at me. "Well, go on back then."

We stare at him.

Keisuke shrugs. "It's your last night here. Might as well," he adds, murmuring.

Without another word, he snuffs his cigar and collects his belongings from the balcony table and goes inside. He pauses at the door, glancing back as though he were about to say something. And then he changes his mind and walks away, and then I'm still standing in the dark night, understanding things I can't believe I haven't noticed before.

Mimi calls after her father suddenly, "Papa!"

He turns, looking at her, waiting.

She smiles. "I just…. Good night, Papa."

He responds lovingly, sadly. "Good night, baby."

He walks away, and Mimi slips her hand into mine, leaning back against me.

"So what did you say to him?" she asks, curious.

"Nothing," I mumble, slightly dazed still.

She turns to glance at me. "Then what were you two talking about? He looks so serious..."

I shake my head. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

She tugs me to the patio furniture set in the corner of the balcony, gesturing me to sit down while she takes the chair next to me.

"Don't you want to go back to sleep?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "Too late now. Besides, I bet we can make it to the sunrise."

I hesitate, "You know, I've got a couple of things to settle for the office. Why don't you stay here another day? I'll meet you back in Tokyo tomorrow."

She stares at me.

"Taichi—,"

"I'm serious," I interrupt. "You haven't spent any time with your parents since I got here. You should. I don't mind going back alone."

She doesn't say anything, looking away. I lean over to touch her cheek.

"You understand?"

"Sure," she says, slipping easily out of my grasp and walking back to the balcony door.

I stand up, "Come on, don't make a big deal about this—,"

"A big deal?" she repeats, turning back around, her mouth pressed into a thin angry line. "If you're that desperate to go back, you could have left any time you wanted—,"

"That's not what I meant!" I defend heatedly.

"Oh, forget it," she mutters, pulling back the glass door to stomp back to her room.

But then she stops, frozen where she stands.

Curious, I move closer, peeking over her shoulder to see where her gaze lies. It's nothing really out of the ordinary—Keisuke and Satoe are awake, standing in the kitchen. He's still wearing that pink bathrobe and she has her hair pulled up in a messy ponytail. And he has his face tucked right behind her ear, where he's murmuring something to make her giggle and blush, until she finally sets the coffee pot down on the counter and kisses him like it's her first time. They're always like that around each other, when they're alone at least, acting like newlyweds. And even when they're not alone, it's the small gestures, the little things that stand out, the occasional glance and the exchange of smiles that tell you there's something more about this long-lasting relationship you'll probably never understand.

I slip my arms around Mimi's waist, pulling her close, burying my nose into her hair.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

"You always are," she says, and I open my eyes, stunned. "We can take the earlier train," she adds. "I have things to get back to, too, you know."

She disappears into her room, leaving me standing very confused on the balcony, with Keisuke and Satoe—having noticed the way their daughter stalked by them moments before—staring at me curiously. Shaking my head, I make my way to the bathroom, moody, locking the door and staring into the mirror.

Why is it I can never do anything right?

I'm trying—I really am, but I must be missing something because it never works out the way I intend.

So what am I doing wrong?

Pushing frustration away, I take a shower, get dressed, and then try and help Mimi pack her things. She lets me, not saying anything, and I don't either. Great. Another fight. Another non-fight fight. Is it impossible for us to not get into these arguments? Does this happen to all couples? I mean, even her parents act like they got married yesterday, though it's certainly been at least forty years, but—

Wait a minute.

_Is that it?_

"Mimi," I say so suddenly she actually stops to look at me, "you know your parents are different, don't you? I mean, they may look like the perfect relationship, but only because they work at it so much. But not everyone's is like that—,"

"Are you trying to make me feel better?" she asks dryly, turning away.

I grab her hand. "I'm trying to understand us," I tell her. "I'm not saying we're perfect and everything's fine the way it is, but we can change it, if we change ourselves."

She looks at me seriously.

"You're really willing to change us?" she asks after a long moment.

"I'm willing to do whatever it takes, Mi. I'm not giving this up..."

She smiles a little, weakly even, but I'm taking whatever I can get, so I hold her face in my hands and kiss her lightly on the mouth. She smiles again, more like herself, and I hug her tightly, determined to prove what I said.

We do in fact take the earlier train, and half way there Miyako calls Mimi on her cell, and her high-pitched squealing on the other end of the line clues me into what's going on: apparently, there's been a mix-up at the bridal store, and Sora's trying desperately to settle it, but Miyako's convinced the wedding's going straight to hell and she demands that Mimi come to help her. Mimi tries her best to calm her down, and when we finally arrive in Tokyo she gives me a quick, half-hearted kiss on the cheek before diving for the nearest taxi and racing to her friend's side.

Weddings do weird things to a woman's mind.

With nothing else to do, I drag myself back to Takeru's apartment, then realize he might still be contagious and decide to call instead.

He doesn't answer, but Yamato does.

"Hello?" he asks, sounding irritated.

"It's Taichi," I say.

He chokes, "T—Tai? What are you—where—?"

"We came back early. Is Takeru better or should I get a hotel?"

"I—?"

"And how are you feeling by the way, you know, after getting beat up by a girl three years your junior?"

"_Shit_," he hisses, and I blink.

"Was it something I said?"

"What? Oh—no, never mind, I just—you can come over, don't worry. Takeru's fine."

"Yeah? Was it very bad?"

"No. He's still a little weak, but he's okay."

"Great. I'm about five minutes from the building right now, so—," I stop, interrupted by what sounds like barking on Yamato's end of the line.

_Wait_.

Barking?

"I didn't know Takeru had a dog," I say blankly, confused.

"He doesn't," Yamato sighs. "Those are Daisuke's."

"As in...more than one?"

"Apparently, he was bitten by a dog a while ago, and Ken took the dog to the pound. It—or she, rather, escaped again and found her way back to the Miyako and Ken's apartment building. Daisuke found her again, tried to get her to go away, but then discovered she came back because she had hidden her puppies in the alleyway beside the complex, and he wrote off their last encounter as one influenced by stress, got all sentimental, and basically adopted the pups. Miyako refuses to let him keep them in her apartment, so he wants to keep them here. Says I have nothing better to do anyway."

"So you're…dog-sitting?"

"Puppy-sitting," he corrects dully, thoroughly unenthusiastic.

I chuckle. "Want some help?"

"Yes, God, _please_," he groans. "I hate these dumb mutts..."

"Be right there," I laugh, hanging up and shaking my head at Daisuke's ridiculous ploys the rest of the drive there. I tip the cab driver and try to take the elevator to Takeru's apartment floor, but am stopped by the mechanic who apparently still hasn't fixed it, and so I resort to the stairs, only to run into Takeru himself.

He looks incredibly tired, but also in a big rush. He pauses to flash me a smile though.

"How'd the trip go?" he asks politely.

"Pure, unadulterated hell," I grumble.

He smiles sympathetically, but I can tell how distracted he is. I frown. "Are you sure you should be up? I mean, you can't be fully rested by now—,"

"I'm fine," he mutters. "I missed too many days as it is. I have to go back to work."

"They're going to understand if you're sick, Takeru."

He shrugs.

"Maybe."

I study him carefully.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"'Course," he smiles again and walks off before I can tell him to quit with the bullshit and tell me what's wrong. I watch him go, frowning, and decide that that night I'll talk with him.

I let myself into his apartment and am immediately overtaken by the sound of yapping puppies who've been blocked off by square screen gates into a corner of the living room. They skid and tumble over themselves as they scurry to the screens, sniffing me out. And despite how loud and obnoxious they are, they're still kinda cute. Aw, come on, they're _puppies_—small, tiny, furry mutts. I don't blame Daisuke at all. How can you _not_ feel sentimental?

I pick one of them up, a fat white one, and carry it into the spare bedroom with me. Yamato himself is sitting up in bed, and he shoots me a look when I enter carrying the spawn of Satan (according to him).

"If you let one out, they're all going to want to come out," hewarns.

"Come on, Yamato. Look at him!" I shove the animal into the blond's face.

He rolls his eyes and then yawns, falling back on his pillow tiredly. "Nice to see the trip to Mimi's parents hasn't permanently scarred you yet."

"Give it time," I say, leaving to put the puppy back. "How are you feeling?"

"Drugs are God's gift to mankind," he says, gesturing to the painkillers by his bed.

"Rightly so," I agree, grinning. "Takeru left for work, by the way."

He sighs. "I told him not to. Does he listen? Of course not..."

"He looked like he was in a rush."

"I know. After Daisuke called to say he was coming to check up on the puppies, he's been set on going back. Don't ask me. He won't tell me anything."

I frown, curious, but say nothing more on the subject. "Have you eaten?"

"Yeah, yeah. Sora was just here," he mumbles sleepily.

I pick up one of the pill bottles and realize the effects of his medicine are kicking in. Well, so much for trying to have a conversation. Very quietly, I slip out of the room and shut the door, deciding to let the puppies out now that Yamato the Puppy Nazi can't get mad at me. And even if he did wake up, what's he going to do, bedridden as he is? Years of football practice guarantee I can outrun his crutches anytime, anywhere. Of course, I could still do that even if he weren't handicapped.

I lose track of time playing with the dumb little puppies, until a very rapid, hurried knock on the door invites me back to reality. I open it to find Daisuke and Mimi standing there. The former beams excitedly when he sees his dogs, throwing himself at them while barely even glancing at me, and the latter fumes under her breath, marching past me to collapse on the sofa.

I shut the door, going first to Mimi.

"Something wrong?"

She purses her lips, glowering.

"She's still recovering from her experience with The Bride-Zilla From Hell," Daisuke explains, gathering three puppies into his arms for kisses.

I wince. "That bad?"

There's a bit of silence, and then Mimi just explodes. "It's so _frustrating_! She's being _totally_ uncooperative! I can't deal with this!" With a cry of rage, she grabs a throw pillow and—well, throws it across the room, causing several of the puppies to go casing after it excitedly. Then she tries to pull the sofa backing off and fling that around too, but it won't come out. Shouting obscenities that shock even me, she attacks the couch, finally resorting to biting and trying to rip it apart with her teeth.

I quickly intervene, breaking up the "fight," and trying not to let her see Daisuke laughing at her.

Gently, I envelope her in my arms and separate her from the evil couch pillow, bringing her down to sit on the floor with me. She growls grumpily, folding her arms over her chest and pouting, even ignoring the puppies who come crawling to her now. I lean into her, tucking her head under my chin, wisely saying nothing just yet.

With a frustrated sigh, she shoves me back to the kitchen. Daisuke throws me a look that clearly reads,_ "Women—can't live with them, can't live without them, damn it all."_ I grin at him and he takes his cue to leave the room, going in to check up on Yamato instead to give us a few minutes.

I smirk, going over to wrap a comforting arm around her shoulders. She hesitates, and then casually leans into me, calming down a little as I lead her back into the living room.

"Give it a night," I reassure, "and everyone will have cooler heads in the morning. That's always the best remedy—a couple hours apart ought to do the trick."

"_You're_ one to talk about cool heads," she teases.

Well, at least she's smiling.

"Hey, treat me nicely, I'm trying to cheer you up."

"For your own personal gain."

"I would never."

"You're a terrible liar."

She kneels down on the floor to stroke one of the puppies nudging her feet. She's quiet, thinking, and then out of the blue she blurts out the last thing I would have ever expected:

"I want one," she whispers.

I glance at her curiously. "Huh?"

She gestures to the puppies pawing at her ankles, their wrinkled fur obscuring their gazes and their tiny, wet noses leading them as they stagger blindly, inexperienced, around the floor. She picks a small, tawny pup and kisses his sniffling nose. She hugs his close, sighing.

"Don't you want one?"

I look down at them, staring.

"Well, sure, I—," I stop suddenly, wide-eyed.

_Wait_…are we talking about puppies…or _puppies?_

I want to ask, but my tongue is frozen in my mouth, and I can barely move at all. She doesn't seem to notice, stroking the mutt in her hands affectionately.

"Mi?" I ask tentatively, unsure. She looks up and smiles brightly, reaching for my hand. I take it and kneel down next to her, instinctively accepting the puppy she gives me. "Are…are you sure we're ready?" I question seriously.

She nods with an amused smile. "I think so. I really want one, Tai. It could be good for us, don't you think?"

I stare at her in wonder.

And then, without a second thought, I'm overcome with the realization that I want that, too. I want to do everything with her, and if she thinks we're ready for that, we're ready to get past our previous loss and move on, then maybe we are. _Together_, maybe we are. All I know is that being with her, experiencing this with her—that just makes me want to dare to try.

So I kiss her softly on the lips, taking her by surprise. Her honey eyes widen, twinkling.

I smile. "Okay."

She wrinkles her nose, pleased, and returns the kiss deeply. I'm a little taken aback, though I'm not going to complain if she wants to start right away, to be frank. I'm about to push the annoying, whining dogs aside and really show her how serious I am about this next step in our relationship, when she unexpectedly pulls back and sighs, satisfied.

"I'll tell Daisuke we'll take at least half of the litter."

My mind is still on that kiss, but her words crash me back to reality.

"What?"

She glances at me. "We can't just take them now, Taichi. That's dog-napping. Besides, they're Daisuke's to begin with, after all, and—why are you looking at me like that?" she interrupts defensively.

My mouth's hanging open but I don't bother to mend my shocked expression.

"What are you _talking_ about?" I demand, confused.

"_Puppies_," she says, pronouncing each syllable slowly, as though I were intentionally playing stupid. She takes one and holds the animal up to my face. "We _just_ talked about getting one for ourselves." She stares, frowning amusedly at me. "Don't tell me you forgot already."

I'm completely at a loss for words.

"Wait—you were—you mean you were actually _literally_ talking about—about _puppies_?" I sputter, bewildered and feeling incredibly foolish. I can feel the heat creeping up my collar as my embarrassment and frustrations reveal themselves on my face.

"Well, of course, dummy. What did you think I was—?" she stops suddenly, her eyes huge. Her hand flies to her mouth.

"_Oh my God_."

I still can't think of anything to say, realizing how stupid I must look to her right now, and I'm too much in shock at my own thoughts to justify them to her.

Before I can think of a clever excuse to avoid having to explain myself, Daisuke enters the living room. We both stare at him blankly, and he surmises from the tension and silence in the room exactly what he's interrupting. Flushing, he apologizes quickly, but I'm not about to let this opportunity get away. Leaping to my feet, my face red and my palms sweaty, I spew out some shitty excuse about the office and emails and phone calls and evil bosses and dive for the apartment door, leaving Mimi frozen on the floor with her hand still plastered over her mouth and Daisuke in utter confusion beside her.

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	9. Chapter 9: Takeru

**Done That**

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Women, fame, and money. Things normal guys would enjoy. But Taichi, Takeru, Jyou and Yamato, four frustrated, desperate, clueless, and indecisive young men, are just about ready to throw in the chips. AU Sequel to 'Been There

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**Disclaimer**: I don't own. 

**Author's Note**: I feel compelled to add my two cents in on the subject matter of the following chapter, but by all means feel free to ignore me. I tried to write Takeru's narrative as realistically as possible given the nature of this fanfiction and my plotline and where I want to take this story. I'm basing his words off of personal experiences and that makes it logical to me, even if it doesn't suffice for some of you. Again, ignore me, I just wanted to say something about this, sensitive as the subject is.

And now that you are utterly, deathly bored out of your mind, on with the chapter.

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Marriage is sacred. 

Even if the world today thinks it isn't and the media tries to dumb it down to little less than an easily broken legal formality, the root of it all is based entirely on the desire to be with and belong to the one you love. And that makes it undeniably beautiful.

Marriage used to be sacred.

Even if the people involved try their hardest to preserve what they share and everything and everyone else tries to break them apart, the struggle to remain loyal and pure will never fade. But there will always be other forces of nature, forces of raw human emotion and failures, always.

I just never thought it would be me.

I never—

_Dammit_.

I shut my eyes, sinking low in my chair, templates for tomorrow's sports page lying unmarked and unread on the desk in front of me. I'd been staring at them blankly, tiredly for the past hour, pushing myself to work as the deadline draws closer. Yamato was right—I'm still too weak to be back here, but there was no way I was going to sit around at home. I had to get my mind off things, and I knew that if I hung around my brother any longer, the awful truth would just come tumbling out. So I had to leave, had to find something to keep myself busy, had to avoid the world even if only for a few hours.

But I can't focus.

And it has nothing to do with the grogginess that comes with recovering from an illness.

No, I can't focus because in even the briefest silences I can still feel her mouth on mine, her freckled, soft skin melting under my touch, every stroke and whisper and kiss—

God, what am I even _doing_...?

"Takeru!"

I jump, startled, and look up to see my editor glowering at me. He's standing right in front of my desk; I must not have noticed him coming in. That makes me feel all the worse, of course, and I cower, knowing what's coming next.

"Is the proof done?" he asks in his signature I'm-Allergic-to-Bullshit tone.

"Just about," I mumble, pulling the templates closer to me, hoping that by moving them around he'll fail to notice that I've barely even touched them.

He studies me with strong disapproval.

"Listen, your assistant can get this done. If you're still sick, you shouldn't be here. We can manage without you for another day."

"I'm _fine_," I insist, frowning at the desk.

He pauses, "Takeru, you're a _wreck_." I shut my eyes, dreading his next words. "You _barely_ responded to the questions at the staff meeting this afternoon; you pushed back your interview with Kyoto's new baseball manager for the third time this month and God knows when he's going to be willing to try again; you're behind in the deadlines and I know your work is way better than the total _crap_ you've been handing in to me lately; and my secretary says you haven't even eaten anything all day. That is not '_fine'_ to me."

I sigh.

"It's been a long day..."

"Exactly." He leans over and pulls the templates out of my hands. "I'll finish this. You go home. And don't come back until your handwriting returns. I couldn't read your meeting minutes at all, and you've got the best penmanship on the staff. Get some sleep, will you? You look like death itself."

There's no point in arguing anymore now that he's holding the proofs, and I'm too exhausted to properly defend myself. So I let him take the templates and leave the room, nodding vaguely to his instruction to stop at the newspaper's employee's café on the first floor on my way out.

But when he leaves, I don't move. I just sink even lower in my chair, my face tilted up to the ceiling, eyes shut, remembering.

She really is beautiful.

Being with her is just—I can't even explain it.

Judge me all you want, I can even judge myself, but it won't change anything. It won't change the fact that we gave into something that'll kill us both slowly, dragging us deeper and farther into a whirlwind of mistakes and passions and broken vows.

And the worst part was knowing what we were doing the entire time, being fully aware of it all, and still we didn't stop.

And that terrifies me the most, even now, as I realize how willingly I lost total control over myself. I could tell you I wasn't myself, that I was truly shaken up by the awfulness of my family's secrets and of seeing the cold reality behind my idealized family fantasy, that she was just as lonely and desperate and overwhelmed by the potential failure of her married life as it teetered on the rocks. I couldn't deal with my parents' divorce, and I still can't, and to this day I think I unintentionally try to jeopordize any potential relationship I have so that I don't have to risk failing in it. It's illogical, I know, but it's the truth.

But she understood. She didn't tell me I was wrong. She actually _listened_.

She'd come from her own broken family, only to be thrown young and inexperienced and blind to problems she should have expected, running straight into a full-blown relationship with a man who seemed to have the perfect, worry-free life. And she caved under the pressure, because she was so scared of messing up. He thought she didn't trust him, trust them, when she really was just worried about letting him down. And he hadn't understood, didn't tell her she was wrong to think like that, didn't really listen because he would never truly understand where she was coming from, why she was so scared it wouldn't work.

But I understood. And I didn't tell her she was wrong. And I actually listened.

We were suffering separately when we could have suffered together, so we did. We didn't think, didn't rationalize, didn't face our problems the way we should have. No, we just let the tension and the emotions and the unspoken longings break us up and take us over in what was at the time the most convenient, reckless way. And maybe that was why we did it—we were being reckless, throwing away what made sense because nothing else was making sense at that time for us anyway. We _needed_ to be reckless, just this once.

And now we had to pay for it.

I could reason it that way to myself but you wouldn't believe me because I don't even believe myself, or even _trust_ myself anymore after this. Everything I thought was true about me fell apart in that one moment of giving into temptation, broke into a million pieces, and what's left is this new part of me that I never dreamed existed, someone I don't want anything to do with, emotions I can't bring myself to face.

The telephone on my desk rings, intruding on my chaotic state of mind.

I blink, surprised, but answer it anyway.

"Takaishi speaking," I say automatically, lifelessly, not caring in the slightest about what my editor wants now.

There's a long pause, and then a slow, shaky intake of breath.

I sit up at once.

"Sumiko...?" I ask softly, not daring to believe it.

"Hi," she whispers.

I'm gripping the edge of my desk, not even realizing how tightly. I haven't talked to her since that afternoon, since stumbling out of her apartment—our of _their_ apartment—feeling scared and nauseous at the realization that I had taken away something that only her husband had the right to know. I'd wandered the streets for hours after that, most likely catching the flu that way, but I didn't care.

I hesitate, "How are you?"

And the way she laughs a little, her voice trembling, tells me she's drowning alongside me in the irony of it all.

"I'm okay. You?"

"Okay," I whisper back, clutching the phone even harder.

I really can't believe I'm sitting here, doing this. I could never have thought I would be doing this. And yet here I am.

"I—I hope you don't mind me calling you at the newspaper," she stammers after a long moment. "I didn't think it'd be—well, your cell phone would've been—it would've—,"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," I interrupt gently, understandingly. "It's fine."

"Okay."

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. "Sumiko—,"

"I'm going to tell him."

I freeze.

"What?" I sputter, shocked.

"I'm going to tell him," she whispers softly. "Tonight."

I feel weak. "Tonight?"

"I have to."

And I know she's right, I know she is. But the idea—the very thought of—

That's what Jyou had said. He told me I had to tell him. I was in too much shock to realize he suspected something to protest when he asked me if his suspicions were true. I couldn't even be angry when he explained how he'd seen us run into each other that day, how stunned he'd been by our subsequent actions. There was nothing to fight about, no where to hide, and he _knew_. I was trapped, staring at him, my energy already drained by the flu. And he assumed by my silence that he was right, and the look on his face as he turned away from me—if that was any clue of what Daisuke might do, I couldn't bear it. I _couldn't_. I'd die right there.

"Sumiko, you can't," I blurt out.

"I have to—,"

"No, you don't. It was one mistake; it doesn't matter anymore—,"

"Do you really believe that?" she interrupts sadly.

"It doesn't have to be like this," I reply lamely.

"But it is, and we made it this way. And I can't do this to him. I just _can't_. Even if he ends up hating me, I care too much about him to be a lie, to do that to him. I can't do this—," and then she stops, crying.

I straighten, worrying, "Hey, don't cry—,"

"I wanted to be _perfect_ for him—I just wanted to be beautiful for him, and now I'm not even _that_—and it's all my fault—,"

I can't stand to see her like this, to hear her doing this to herself when I'm even more to blame for what happened, for not having enough courage to keep it from happening. I swallow hard, "That's not true. It isn't true—,"

She's panicking now, breakingdown,"How am I supposed to face him? How could I do that to him? How could I do this—I've just made everything worse and now he'll never take me back, there's just no way and—God, how am I supposed to _face_ him now—?"

"I'll do it."

Silence settles, and I can hear her hiccupping on the other line, and I'm just as shocked as she is about my unexpected words.

"What?" she gasps.

I try to swallow the lump in my throat. "I'll tell him."

"No—,"

"I'll do it. This is my fault just as much as yours, maybe more. I'll tell him."

"You can't," she says desolately. "Don't you know how much he respects you? His friends are everything to him. _Everything_. I can't let you do that—,"

"I'm not letting you do this alone," I reply finally, voice flat.

"Takeru—,"

"Don't," I interrupt, miserable. "Please don't say my name like that. All I want is to kiss you again when you do."

She inhales sharply, holding her breath.

"I can't even sleep thinking about you," I confess, unable to understand why I'm doing this, knowing I'm just making this all the more difficult for her. But it's true. In the briefest silence, in the momentary darkness, in the lingering isolation, all I dream of is her. "I can't do anything right anymore, not after—after what we did wrong. And when I feel like it's all falling apart at the seams, when I can't bear living with the one thing I never wanted to become, when I fear I'm failing at everything I used to believe in, all I have to do is surrender to the silences and I find you there. Our terrible, beautiful secret. And—dear _God_, I don't know what's happening, Sumiko, but I just—,"

"'Sumiko'?" a low voice asks, and I almost drop the phone, horrified.

Taichi's standing in the doorway, staring at him, his expression unreadable.

I can't breathe.

She seems to sense something's happened, and she quickly whispers into the phone, "I've got to go," and then she's gone and I can't believe she is. I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I've fallen this low, that I'm here doing this, being so selfish and stupid and scared shitless.

I feel faint, gazing at Taichi's still figure in the doorway.

"Was that Sumiko?" he asks after a moment.

My tongue's stuck to the roof of my mouth, feeling like ash.

"Was it?" he prods, waiting.

I still don't say anything, my insides squirming. I remember the disappointment and disgust on Jyou's face, and I know that if Taichi looks at me like that, too, pushes me aside like that, I'll never be able to get his trust back.

But suddenly, Taichi relaxes, sighing as he walks into the room and takes a seat in a chair across from me.

"Good of you to try and help them figure their problems out," he commends tiredly, rubbing his face. "Soon as you're done, kindly offer your humanitarian aid to me, will you? I think I screwed up big time. Just wait 'til you hear..."

And I want nothing more than to laugh. Laugh and cry and wonder how on earth anyone could do this to their friends.

He raises an eyebrow. "You okay?"

"What?" I gasp.

"You look kinda funny. Is the flu back?"

I don't say anything, focused on recovering control of my senses. And then it hits me: _he doesn't know_. My eyes widen a little. Could we really get away with this? Could we really keep it a secret? Was Jyou wrong?

_Can we keep pretending?_

"Takeru?" Taichi's voice snaps my out my reverie, and I stare at him, confused.

I shake my head. "Sorry. Sorry, I—," but I stop, shaking my head again and hanging up the phone. He frowns.

"You really do look like hell, you know."

"Yeah, and you're pretty damn sexy yourself," I shoot back, training my nerves out of the tense knots they'd been in for so long now.

He rolls his eyes. "Glad to see your witty sense of humor hasn't been affected."

"Never will," I say shakily. But he doesn't notice the way my voice trembles, so I swallow the anxiety and force myself to act normal, act the way the world wants me to behave until I sort out the mess of my life.

He runs a hand through his messy brown hair.

"Well, hope you don't mind me dropping by," he says. "I just had to get out of there..."

"Something happen?"

He winces. "Hell, yeah..."

"Mimi?" I guess.

He groans, dropping his head into his hands and proceeds to tell me exactly what happens.

I stop fumbling with the papers on my desk, everything else fading in light of this new information. I stare, gaping at him.

"Are you serious?" I demand him.

He hangs his head, depressed. "Would I joke about something like that?"

"Wow. You really _are_ an idiot..."

"_Thanks_."

I shake my head, getting up to file some papers. Faking conversation is easier when I don't have to look at him, I realize, and I try to keep my gaze focused on anything else I can until I can get out of this talk. Fortunately, Taichi's just provided me the perfect opportunity to direct the topic exactly where I want—away from me.

"You just left her like that?" I ask casually.

"What did you expect me to do, stay? There was no way I was going to face her after _that_." He groans again, burying his face in his hands. "What the hell is happening to me? How did I—how could I have mixed things up that much?"

I lean back against the cabinets. "You realize what this means, don't you?"

He glances at me doubtfully.

"You want kids," I say matter-of-factly.

He jumps, pointing a trembling finger accusingly at me. "I do _not_! You take that back!"

I roll my eyes. "Taichi, grow up."

"_Take it back_!"

"Why should I? I mean, it's true, isn't it?"

"_No_!" He shakes his head violently. "No, it's _not_!"

"She asks you something totally innocent and you start imaging life with her with children? Taichi, you've got to face it. _You_, sir, want to settle down. You want to have children. With Mimi. You want to marry Mi—,"

His jaw drops. "Take that back now!" he yells, panicked. "Takeru, I fucking swear to God—!"

I throw up my hands in mock surrender.

"What's the big deal?" I smile. "So you're human, so you want what every sane guy in the world wants, and you can have it, too, if you'd only admit it to yourself. What's so wrong about that?"

He stares at me, appalled.

"What?" I ask, still smiling.

"Don't tell me _you_ want that," he sputters.

I shrug, scratching my head.

"Sure. Why not?"

His stare is absolutely blank.

"What?" I repeat, annoyed now.

"It's just—is this about your quest for true love?" he asks suddenly.

I almost trip over myself, which would have been quite a feat considering I'm standing still.

"My _what_?" I demand, shocked.

He shrugs. "Just a rumor I heard circulating."

As if my life couldn't get any worse.

The door opens.

_Oh, yes, it can._

"There you are! Do you know how hard it is to track a cab these days?"

I think I'm going puke.

Taichi barely even glances at him, his face in his hands.

Daisuke crosses his arms over his chest and smirks. "Mimi clued me in. You should go back and talk to her, Taichi. She's freaking out."

"And I'm _obviously_ not," Taichi mutters sarcastically.

"Come on, Taichi. I'm supposed to bring you back."

He shakes his head. "I need to think about this first."

"But this is serious—,"

"Daisuke, I need to think about it first. Tell her I'll call her."

He sighs, shaking his maroon head. "Don't wait, Taichi. Take it from me and don't wait."

Taichi looks up, staring at him strangely.

Daisuke shrugs sadly, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "Keep waiting and it'll keep building up. All the hurt and the secrets and the unresolved problems, they don't stop and you can't ignore them. You've got to face it, really listen and work your best at fixing it, or you'll never be able to get past it and before you realize what's happening you've let your stupid pride get in the way of the best thing that's ever happened to you. And then you'll regret it, Taichi."

Taichi glances away, frowning. "Tell you what," he says after a long moment. "I'll go back to Mimi if you'll go back to Sumiko. Deal?"

He lifts his face to meet Daisuke's steady gaze. The latter smiles weakly, nodding his head.

"Deal."

I have got to be the worst person on the planet. I have got to be the most disgusting, worthless thing on the face of the earth right now. I have got to be. Nothing's been as messed up as this, and nothing's been as clear as this at this exact moment.

And now I have to make a choice.

And it's the hardest decision I'll ever make, an inevitable consequence of the worst thing I've ever done.

"_Daisuke_—," I choke, gasping.

He looks up. They both are staring at me now, suddenly aware of how pale I've gotten, how I'm shaking so hard I can barely stand up. Taichi straightens in his chair, eyes wide. "Takeru—are you all right?" he asks, worried.

But I ignore him, looking at Daisuke face-to-face. I can't believe how hard it is.

"Daisuke, I have to tell you something," I stammer.

"Okay," he agrees slowly, eyeing me with a mixture of faint amusement and curiosity and concern.

"Daisuke, I—," and I stop, unable to breathe.

God, what kind of a person _am_ I?

I've _never_ done anything like this.

I _can't_ do anything like this—this isn't even _me_.

And if it is, I _hate_ myself.

"I—,"

He smiles uncertainly while Taichi frets where he sits, watching me, wary.

"Daisuke, I—I just—,"

Taichi interrupts, "I knew you shouldn't have gone back to work this early. You're still sick, aren't you? Yamato's going to kill you for this, you realize. Don't you know how dangerous the flu can be if you don't treat it properly?"

And Daisuke says, "Takeru, just spit it out. What's wrong?"

I think I'm going be sick. I know I am. I can feel the bile rushing up my throat and I try not to gag, weak and dizzy and wanting nothing more than to disappear off the face of the goddamn earth.

"That day—the day you tried calling me for those football tickets—remember?" He nods. I breathe deeply, "That day, I wasn't at home and—and I didn't answer my phone because I—I was—,"

"Takeru, what's this really about?" he interrupts impatiently, getting annoyed now.

I swear I can't breathe. "Sumiko—,"

Taichi frowns, most likely remembering when he'd first come into the room and heard me talking to her. He opens his mouth to say something, but Daisuke beats him to it, his eyes lighting up eagerly, unknowingly. "She talked to you? What'd she say? Did she anything about me? Takeru—?"

I'm shaking my head. He looks confused, apprehensive about my behavior now.

"Well, then, why—?"

"Daisuke, Sumiko—that night we—we didn't intend for—it just sort of happened and—,"

I can literally see the realization dawning on his face.

He staggers back, falling against the wall of my office.

"Wait a minute," he says, stammering, eyes wide. "Just—just wait—,"

"I swear to God, Daisuke, I never meant—,"

"No," he breathes, holding up a hand. He casts it over his face. "I don't—_wait_—,"

I still can't stop shaking.

"She's in love with you, Daisuke—_you_, you _alone_ and I—I swear, I _swear_ none of it meant anything—_nothing_—,"

"Stop," he says, "just stop, _I said stop_—,"

But I can't stop now. All the words just spill out of me in a big rush, desperately. "Please, it's not her fault, it wasn't her fault—don't hate her, she can't handle that—don't hate her—,"

He's shaking his head, trying hard not to smile, like I'm lying about it all for some stupid joke. And he has no idea howdesperate I amfor it all to be some stupid joke, too. I'd give anything. _Anything_.

Taichi stands. "You bastard," he says so softly I barely hear him, but I do. I shut my eyes, breathing deeply, willing myself to keep going. When I open my eyes again, Taichi's looked away, grasping Daisuke roughly by the armand trying to drag him from the room. But Daisuke won't leave, won't move at all.

I plead to him, my voice breaking, "Hate me all you want, I can deal with that, but just promise you won't hold this against her, please—I just—_please_, Daisuke, I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_—,"

He looks at me, face pale, the smile fading.

He just stares at me.

No expression, no other reaction.

And that just made it all the more harder, all the more worse.

"_I'm sorry_," I whisper.

But something tells me that no matter how many times I say it, it won't fix this.

I don't know if I can ever fix this.

* * *


	10. Chapter 10: Jyou

**Done That**

* * *

Women, fame, and money. Things normal guys would enjoy. But Taichi, Takeru, Jyou and Yamato, four frustrated, desperate, clueless, and indecisive young men, are just about ready to throw in the chips. AU Sequel to 'Been There.'

**Disclaimer**: I don't own.

* * *

I don't think I was even surprised when I saw him there, standing in front of the door, drenched from the late night thunderstorm. He was cold, wet, and most likely hungry, too, but he didn't accept any of my offers of food. Instead, he quietly took the towel I gave him and dried up in the bathroom. By the time he came out, I'd set up a spare bed in the tiny second bedroom, and he thanked me. I lingered in the room for a while, waiting for him to say something else, but he didn't. So, wishing him a simple good night, I left him alone.

When I woke up this morning, he'd already gone to work. I decided not to call, thinking perhaps he'd rather be left alone for a while, and then I debated whether of not to call Yamato and tell him about everything. The fact that Yamato hadn't called at all meant something significant. Maybe he already knew.

And yet, I'd already washed my hands of the business, determined not to get involved.

But just the look on his face—

I can't _help_ wanting to help, but I can't think of anything to do except give him a place to stay as long as he needs it. And though I've told myself repeatedly that this has nothing to do with me and that it's best to let him sort this out since he's the one who started it all in the first place, I can't shake off the nasty suspicion that I just might the only friend who's willing to be there.

Which in all honesty seems to be a reasonable assumption after I finally gave into my conscious and telephoned Yamato to at least tell him where his brother spent the night. I'm at my office in the hospital still, actually, getting ready to go home, when I call. Surprisingly, Taichi is the one to answer. He says Yamato is sleeping.

I hesitate. "So, um, Takeru's staying with me—,"

"Okay," he interrupts coolly.

"Maybe you should send over some of his things—,"

"Fine."

"He's really—,"

"Don't, Jyou. Just don't."

I sigh. "How…how's Daisuke?"

I can almost hear his sarcastic smirk. "How do you think he is?"

I really hate choosing sides. I don't want to do that; I don't want to be caught in the middle. But Taichi hadn't seen Takeru last night, and he hadn't seen him when I confronted him last week, and he couldn't know. And I'm not saying he's hurting more than Daisuke is, or as much as Sumiko probably is, but he's still hurting. It doesn't matter how much or whose is greater. It just matters that they are.

"What about Sumiko?" I ask after a moment.

Here Taichi exhales slowly. "Haven't seen her. I wouldn't know."

"Well, has anyone seen her?"

"Why don't you ask Takeru?"

And in spite of myself, I have to react to that remark. "Look, Taichi—,"

"Never mind, forget it. I didn't mean it," he apologizes gruffly. "It's just—I can't believe this is happening to _us_…."

I sit back again, shoulders slumping. "How many people know about this?"

He pauses, thinking. "Besides us, Yamato. I had to tell him, Jyou. He didn't—well, you can figure it out. The rest—I suppose they'll find out sooner or later. Not like anyone _wants_ to be one to break the news."

With a sigh, I lean forward and cast my free hand over my face tiredly.

"So what now?"

He's quiet.

"I don't know."

Then a red light flashes on my phone, indicating an incoming call. I straighten, curious.

"Listen, I've got another call, so—,"

"I understand." He stops, hesitating. "And Jyou?"

"Yeah?"

"Just…what I said—I was just angry and I don't—that is, just watch out for him…okay? For Yamato."

I nod into the phone out of instinct. "I will."

We hang up, and then I press the flashing red button to accept the waiting call. "Dr. Kido speaking," I say, trying to sound interested when I'm still thinking about Takeru.

"Hi, Jyou."

I raise an eyebrow, surprised by the sheer irony of it all. It's like a conveniently timed television drama. _Freaky…._

"Uh, hi, Mimi. You know I was just talking to—,"

"Really?" she interrupts. "How interesting."

I roll my eyes. _There's Mimi, for you…._

"What can I do for you?" I say, biting back the urge to smile, even though this would be the kind of day smiles would be greatly appreciated.

"Nothing. I just—I wanted to say hi, you know."

"_Mimi_."

"Okay, okay. But on that subject, we don't really get a chance to talk much lately."

"Well, we've both been busy. _And_ you moved to London."

She chuckles. "Koushiro told me about your thinking of transferring to Tokyo University's hospital."

I flush, embarrassed. "Er, yeah. I mean, I applied. I have an appointment next week with the board of directors there."

"Oh, how exciting," she sighs happily. "You nervous?"

"I wake up nauseous every morning, yes."

She laughs.

"You'll be just fine. You're going to surprise yourself, Jyou. You're worth more than you give yourself credit for."

I smile.

"Thanks, Mi."

"Anytime, sweetie."

"Okay, now tell me what you _really_ want."

"Jyou!"

"Mimi, I know you."

I don't even have to see her to know she's pouting. "I hate it when you do that."

"Come on, tell me."

She goes uncharacteristically quiet. My humor in the situation dwindles a little.

"Are you okay? I mean, it's nothing serious is it?" When she still doesn't answer, I frown, worried. "Mimi, if it is, you should be talking to Taichi, don't you think—?"

"I can't talk to him," she interrupts so surely I'm baffled.

"But—but he's—,"

"I know, Jyou. But I can't."

And I'm struck by how similar her protests are to Takeru's and I groan inwardly, automatically dreading whatever it is. I really don't want to go through something that serious again. And quite honestly, why am I _always_ in the middle?

Then I scold myself. _This is your friend, Jyou. Stop being—_

"Jyou, I think I might be pregnant."

I'm floored.

"Wh—what?" I gasp, shocked.

"I think I'm pregnant," she whispers again.

I blink. "That—that's just—_wow_, Mimi, congratulations. That's really great. I mean, after what happened last—," and I stop, biting my tongue. _Dammit, don't be so insensitive_. "I'm really happy for you, I mean."

"Jyou."

"Er, yeah?" I say, confused.

"I don't want to be pregnant."

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

"I don't want to go through that again, Jyou."

She takes a deep, shaky breath.

"I don't think I _can_ go through that again."

I swallow hard, still recovering from the unexpected news.

"Mimi, I really think you should be talking to Tai—,"

"Jyou, he _wants_ kids."

I blink.

"Are you talking about the same Yagami Taichi I'm talking about?"

She sighs. "Well, he won't admit it, but after The Puppy Misunderstanding, it's too obvious for him to take it back and—,"

"After the _what_?" I interrupt, even more bewildered.

"It's a—long story…."

_I'll bet_.

"Still, Mimi, you can't just not tell him this. Not this," I emphasize.

"I know. I just…I'd rather be sure, you know, before I tell him. So—,"

"—you want me to set up an appointment for you?"

She breathes a sigh of relief. "Yes."

"No problem," I assure, already flipping through my personal phonebook of the hospital's doctors. "Uh…there's a Dr. Niigato who practices in a clinic near Sora's apartment. I'll email you the information?"

"That's fine," she agrees.

And as I'm typing it up, I realize what I'm doing and stop suddenly.

"Mimi, maybe you should tell him anyway. You don't want to go through this alone. He'll understand—,"

"Oh, Jyou," she interrupts sadly, "he won't. I know he won't."

"Well, what—what are you going to do if you are—?"

"One crisis at a time," she says gently, surely.

I want to say something else, convince her that this isn't the right way to approach the issue, but I know she won't listen. She can be as stubborn as Taichi, sometimes, which, I suppose in this case, makes for heavy underlined tension.

After that call with Mimi, I decide I've earned the rest of the day off. I wouldn't be surprised if my blood pressure actually rose. I don't think I can handle any more stress today, and I really need some way to just let it out. So I head off to the one place where I know that I get to be one to vent and talk for once.

Koushiro's apartment is incredibly disorientating. He's not exactly the cleanest guy in the world, but not because he's lazy or anything, he just chooses to focus all his energies and attentions on issues of more pressing concern. Like computers. And…computers. It's actually pretty useful, I guess. I mean, Takeru may the guy to go to when you want tickets for a free game, but Koushiro will save your electronic equipment from the very depths of technological hell. It's extremely convenient. The redhead's about one more rescue away from Taichi literally worshipping him on his knees (the latter may be blessedly business savvy, but he and technology mix about as well as water and electricity).

Iori opens the door for me, looking cheery. Apparently he's just finished his rough draft of his dissertation (all 213 pages of it) and he's in the best of spirits. He invites me inside and goes to set another place at the table. I feel a little bad about having had invited myself unannounced to dinner, but I know Koushiro won't care. In fact, it's probably just microwave dinners anyway.

Koushiro himself is on the couch, watching the news, as is expected.

What I don't expect to see is Ken, sitting next to him on the sofa, his face in his hands.

_Oh boy…._

_Here we go._

"Um—,"

Koushiro looks up and brightens. "Hey, Jyou."

I nod conspicuously at Ken, who hasn't reacted or moved at all. Koushiro shakes his head.

"Ken's staying for dinner, aren't you, Ken?" the redhead asks louder than normal.

I stare with widened eyes as Ken nods instinctively, slowly, like a robot.

And suddenly I'm very grateful I'm not married. Or about to be.

There's a loud bark, and bounding out of one of the bedrooms comes a giant brown-haired dog, who skids to a halt in front of me, yapping and sniffing. I jump back, weary and wary, but Iori quickly dives to my rescue, grabbing the animal by the collar and pulling it away.

"What the—?" I sputter, confused again.

"That's Ken's dog, Kiki," Koushiro explains as though it's the most obvious thing the in the world.

Ken doesn't respond, neither confirming or vetoing the news, and I can only stare at the two of them helplessly.

So Koushiro adds, "She's a good dog, really. Her puppies are the ones Daisuke adopted. But Ken and Miyako decided to take the mother for themselves. She's rather attached to Ken. Follows him everywhere."

And as if to prove it, Kiki patters over to her owner's side, snuggling by his legs, looking bored.

I blink.

"Is this the same—,"

"—dog that bit Daisuke? Yep, that's her."

I back away again, on guard.

"Don't worry, she won't do anything to you," Koushiro reassures. "What happened to Daisuke was just a one-time thing. She was reacting naturally to protect her pups. Apparently, the only person she really hates is Miyako."

"Oh."

Iori snickers, masking his laughter with a cough when Koushiro throws him a look and gestures to Ken.

Koushiro then mentions something about his day at work to change the subject. I feel awkward carrying on as though Ken isn't sitting right there, miserable and suffering cold feet most likely, but Koushiro seems to have the situation handled pretty well so I decide to trust him on this. Hey, if it's one less thing for me to be caught in the middle of….

It's halfway through dinner that Ken's cell phone rings, and he answers it. The other two and I exchange looks, waiting with baited breath, and we all relax with a collective sigh of relief when Miyako's voice blabbers a tear apology on the other end and Ken launches his own on this line. He leaves the table and goes to the kitchen, Kiki following him obediently, and as soon as he's out of earshot, Iori cracks a grin.

"Crisis averted," he observes with a laugh.

"What happened?" I ask.

Koushiro shrugs. "Another episode in the trials and tribulations of the romantically inclined."

I grin, about to remark, when my own cell phone goes off. I groan. "Don't tell me I'm being paged again…."

Iori looks at me sympathetically. "This hospital?"

But I don't answer, feeling a lump grow in my throat when I see the name flashing on the screen of my phone.

"Excuse me," I say hurriedly, pushing back my chair and heading to the apartment door. I step outside, making sure the door is closed behind me, take a deep breath, and then answer the phone. "Hey, Takeru."

"Hi."

He sounds tired, quieter than normal, but I don't remark on it.

"The flat was empty and I just—I was wondering where—,"

"I'm eating dinner at Koushiro's," I explain quickly. "It was on a whim, that kind of thing."

"Oh."

I hesitate, chewing on my lip. "I would have asked you—,"

"Don't worry about it, Jyou," he interrupts quickly, and I know he means it. "It doesn't matter to me. Really, I understand."

"Yeah…. Takeru, listen—,"

And then I stop, frozen, when I hear a very feminine voice calling his name in the background. He tells to wait, and then I can hear his voice distantly mumbling something, followed by the woman's voice. There's a bit of a silence, and then he returns to the phone.

"Sorry about that," he says casually.

I'm almost shaking trying to control myself. "Takeru—,"

"It's not what you think," he says darkly, noting from my tone of voice what I'm assuming.

"And what am I supposed to think?" I snap back, not meaning to sound so angry but I really can't help it, and I don't care very much anymore.

"She just wanted to talk."

"Takeru," I shut my eyes. "Do you even—_Christ_, Takeru, what the hell are you _thinking_?"

"Jyou, don't make assumptions about what you don't understand," he answers flatly.

"What am I supposed to think, then?"

"I told you, she just wanted to talk. That's it."

I'm shaking my head. "You know, I don't even _want_ to know—,"

"Well, I don't want to have this conversation with you. So just drop it."

"Fine," I say through gritted teeth.

He doesn't reply, but I can tell how moody we've both become now. Disgruntled, I shake my head and run a hand through my hair.

"I talked to Taichi today," I tell him finally, not entirely sure why.

"What'd he say?" he asks carefully.

I wince, not replying.

From the silence, he surmises what might have transpired, and his voice drops. "Oh." Then he sighs, "Well, I didn't think—ah, never mind…."

"Takeru, just how long do you plan on doing this?" I ask quietly.

He doesn't say anything.

"Because sooner or later, you're going to have to face them. And the more you put it off—,"

"I know, Jyou," he cuts me off suddenly. "Let me do this my way, okay?"

I give up.

And as if to apologize for being snappish, he breathes deeply, tiredly, and adds, "Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks, Jyou. For—for all this."

I smile a little. "It's fine, Takeru."

"No, Jyou. Not yet." He's quiet, hesitating, before he continues, "I talked to my mother today. We needed it, I think, needed to sort out some misunderstandings. But it worked out and I think we're going to be okay."

"That's good," I say, and I mean it. Even I know how important it would be for a person in his shoes to hear some good news for once.

But then he goes on, "And to make it up to me, she asked me to come with her to help with the research for her new book."

That familiar sense of dread creeps back into the pit of my stomach. "Where?"

"France."

My eyes widen. "What?"

"We have family there—,"

"_Takeru_—!"

"And it'll give everyone time to cool off, don't you think?" He stops here, as though waiting for approval. I'm in total shock. When I don't respond, he sighs. "It's for the best, Jyou. It is."

I shake my head.

"And how long do you plan on hiding from all of this?"

His sigh tells me he's done trying to defend his point. So he just answers directly, not beating around the bush, hoping to get this over with. "Three weeks. Maybe a month."

I'm quiet for a moment, and then I burst out with the first thing that comes to my aggravated mind: "You're going to miss the wedding."

And to my surprise, he actually laughs.

"Let's admit it, Jyou. Nobody wants me there anyway."

And that just does it.

"That's not true, Takeru." I shake my head. "It's not."

"It feels true to me," he murmurs.

"You don't have to do this," I say lamely.

"Maybe not," he admits. "But I want to, Jyou. I need to, I think. Just for a while."

What am I supposed to say to that?

So I shrug. "Then fine. I can…take you to the airport if you'd like."

"Thanks."

"Yeah."

An awkward silence settles, and then he interrupts with a hurried, "Hey, so get back to your dinner. I didn't mean to interrupt."

"It's fine."

"And thanks, Jyou. Again. For understanding."

I really wish he wouldn't do that. I wish he wouldn't do this, and I wish I could tell him what I really think about it all, but for the second time that day, I know that I can't say anything else because he won't listen. And I wouldn't be able to change his mind, make him see what he impact of his decision will be, and I feel unusually helpless, the helpless that doctors aren't supposed to be, the helpless that a real friend shouldn't be.

I know it's illogical, but it's true.

At least, it feels true to me.

* * *


	11. Chapter 11: Yamato

**Done That**

* * *

Women, fame, and money. Things normal guys would enjoy. But Taichi, Takeru, Jyou and Yamato, four frustrated, desperate, clueless, and indecisive young men, are just about ready to throw in the chips. AU Sequel to 'Been There.' 

**Disclaimer**: I don't own.

* * *

"Oh, Miyako's going to _kill_ him." 

I glare into the phone, knowing perfectly well what Bride-Zilla will do to my idiot of a brother, but at the moment I'm too frustrated and drugged up on painkillers to do anything but scowl when someone states the obvious. Especially in Takeru's case.

"Just tell her."

Sora sighs, breathing slowly. "Did he say why he had to leave?"

"No," I lie.

"Well, I'll do my best, Yamato, but expect a call from her anyway."

I wince.

"Thanks, Sora."

She clicks her tongue, amused. "The things I do for you…."

"Chocolate?"

"And flowers, please."

And she has me grinning, like she always does when I'm in a cranky mood. "Coming right up."

With a laugh, she says her goodbyes and we hang up. I lean over and put the phone on the bedside table, then slouch back into my pillows, the smile fading too quickly. I run a hand through my hair, shutting my eyes, as though that'd be enough to change everything. But it's not.

I open my eyes again and stare dully at the small portable television across the room, on loan from Koushiro who volunteered it to help ease my boredom. Unfortunately, it's somehow stuck on this children's television network, playing hour after hour of cartoons. We can't figure out how to fix it, but it doesn't bother me all that much so I leave it alone. Mindless television has its benefits. Like now, for example. I can stare at this dubbed American cartoon show and tune everything else out, and quite frankly, that's exactly what I want now. What I need.

I sink even lower into the bed, shifting my weight to take the pressure off my broken leg.

I'm thinking it can't be entirely selfish to find my current state a disguised blessing. Well, I do miss my music, but at least this way I have an excuse not to go after Takeru. And maybe I don't want to face him now, not yet.

Because—

_Damn_.

I groan, shaking my head.

_Why didn't you just tell me?_

But would I have reacted differently if he'd come to me first? If he'd trusted me first? Would it have mattered? It certainly wouldn't have changed what happened. But it might have changed what was happening now, because of it.

I don't even know whether to be angry at him or scared for him. I'm just…_disappointed_. And not because of what he did, though I'll be the first to admit I hadn't expected that of him. No, I'm more disappointed and hurt that he never told me to my face, never asked me for help, never confided in me about any of it. I don't know if I'd have treated him any differently if he had, but for Christ's sake, he's my _brother_. Even despite what's happened, that has to count for something still, doesn't it?

Was he afraid of what I'd say? That I'd reject him, too? That I wouldn't understand?

And maybe I wouldn't have understood, because I still don't even now, but he should have come to me...

"Yamato," a voice calls, and I blink, startled out of my thoughts.

Mimi is smiling at me, standing beside the bed, holding a plate of sandwiches. "Sorry to wake you, but it's time to eat."

I sit up, surprised.

"I fell asleep?"

She nods at the wall, where the clock reads 2:11 in the afternoon. My eyes widen. I'd called Sora early that morning, so I must have dozed off while thinking. I never expected to nap this long, though.

"Hungry?" she asks.

I'm not really, actually, but Mimi's cooking—you'd have to be an idiot to pass that up, no matter how you feel at the moment. So I accept the sandwiches, chewing slowly, until I realize that she's still lingering there. I raise an eyebrow.

"Um, Mimi, is there something you want to talk about?" I ask politely, confused.

She flushes a little.

"No, no."

"You don't have watch me, you know. I can still take care of myself."

She rolls her eyes, "Says the man who fell down the stairs kissing Hikari—,"

I choke.

She immediately dives for me, taking the sandwich out of my hands and patting me on the back.

"You okay?" she asks, concerned, but I look up at her and see that devilish twinkle in her eyes and I _know_ she's taking pleasure in my misery.

"You're cruel," I sputter.

Mimi laughs, flopping down on the bed, just narrowly avoiding my leg.

"I think it's cute," she declares.

"She told you?"

"No, Sora did."

My eyes widen. "Sora knows? But how—?"

"Miyako told her."

I stare.

"And Ken told Miyako."

I choke again, "_How—_?"

She sighs exasperatedly.

"Yamato, they're engaged. They tell each other _everything_."

"But how does Ken know?" I cry, dismayed.

She waves my terrified horror away. "Iori—,"

"_What_?"

"—who heard it from Koushiro—,"

"Wait a minute—,"

"—who heard it from Willis—,"

"_Will_—?"

"Who heard it from Hikari. You know, after what happened last year, Hikari tells Willis everything. They're very good friends now. I'm happy for them."

I think I'm going to pass out.

"And you and I both know it's impossible for any of us to keep a secret," she winks.

"Taichi is going to skin me _alive_…."

"Oh, don't be so paranoid—,"

"Hey, I happen to like living, okay? Besides, it was stupid and impulsive and I _know_ he's going to hate it."

"Then why'd you kiss her?"

"Because I—," and then I stop, pouting. "You're cruel."

Grinning, she crawls towards me and turns around to lean with her back against me, one foot dangling over the edge of the bed and her head resting on my chest. She settles herself comfortably, nibbling on a sandwich half.

"So what are you going to do?" she asks.

I sigh, "I don't know. Even when she's over here—well, we haven't had a chance to talk, just the two of us, not since it happened. I don't even know what she thinks about it."

"That, I don't know," she admits. "Hikari's pretty closed-mouthed when she wants to be."

"I've noticed."

"Do you want me to talk to her?"

I smile. "I think I should."

"Yes, but will you?"

"Is this before or after your boyfriend murders me?"

She laughs, leaving her unfinished sandwich half on the plate by the bed and dusting her hands of the crumbs.

"Taichi has plenty of other things to concern himself with now."

I shift a little. "Why, something happen?"

"Something's always happening," she replies, but the humor isn't in her voice anymore.

"Mimi—,"

"Never mind—,"

"Hey," I interrupt, straightening and looping an arm around her waist to bring her close. "You know you can tell me anything. What's wrong?"

She doesn't say anything, her head bent in such a way that her soft brown hair falls in front of her face, which she has turned away from. I gently brush the stray tresses out of the way, tucking them behind her ear.

Then Mimi shrugs, sighing.

"It doesn't matter anymore."

"I think it does."

She smirks, "Cute."

"I know I am."

She elbows me gently, playfully.

I protest, "Don't prey on the crippled."

"Crippled? _Please_. You love all this attention, admit it."

"Nah, I just love you," I smile. She cranes her neck to look up at me, and I kiss her forehead. "I'll always care about you, Mi. So why don't you tell me what's really wrong?"

She shakes her head, glancing away.

"He doesn't understand, Yamato."

I stroke her hair, listening patiently.

"He just—everything's so confusing right now…. Lately all we seem to do is get in and out of arguments and fights and misunderstandings, and even when we sort it out and fix the problem, we fall right back into these messes all over again. And it doesn't make any _sense_, you know? If we really love each other, then why are we doing this to each other? It feels like—like we hit a brick wall and we're not going forward or backward or anywhere, and I just don't—it's just so _frustrating_…."

"Mimi, don't you think you should tell him you have a problem with—?"

"He's not the problem, Yamato," she interrupts surely, "the problem is _us_. Or maybe it's me. I just don't know what I want anymore."

And suddenly, I have this undeniable sense of dread that something that shouldn't happen is about to happen anyway.

Her voice grows very soft, "Lately, Yamato, in all honesty, I keep catching myself wondering if there's something more that I can't see, that I might be missing…that he can't give me."

I shut my eyes.

Taking a deep breath, I say carefully, quietly, "Then maybe…maybe it's time you two take a break."

She's very still, unmoving, not replying.

I hesitate before going on.

"Maybe a break is what you need now, to think about things, separately."

She inhales sharply, "But Yamato, he won't understand. He won't and I'm so scared if I say something I'll just lose him—,"

"Mi, that's a risk you don't have any choice but to take. Keeping it from him, not sharing something like this—these sort of feelings shouldn't be kept inside to fester. You've got to tell him."

"But—,"

"Is there really a difference between losing him and lying to him, lying to yourself?"

She shudders, shaking. "I don't—I never wanted this to happen," she whispers, and even though she has her face turned from me, I can tell she's crying.

"Come here," I say, wrapping both arms around her and pulling her into my lap, holding her tightly.

"And that's not even the worst of it," she blurts out, scrubbing at the tears. "Now the first thought that come into mind is how things will affect me, not us, not him, just _me_—like I'm already separating everything into categories that shouldn't exist, that aren't _supposed_ to exist in a real relationship."

She takes a deep breath, turning to bury her face in my shoulder, the words just pouring out of her.

"And I always blame things on him now, when I know he's trying just as hard as I am—no, as I used to, because I'm not even trying anymore and I feel so awful, so _selfish_ and I can't believe I'm doing this to him when I love him—I really do, but I just—I don't know if loving him is enough for me anymore—,"

I grasp her firmly, forcing her to look at me.

"Mimi, you don't mean that."

"Yes, I do," she replies breathlessly. "I do, Yamato, I do, and that's the worst part."

I don't answer, unable to even think of anything to say, so I just hug her comfortingly. She adjusts herself to wrap her arms around me, welcoming the embrace, her face pressed into my neck. And as I turn my head to kiss her hair, stroking her forearm, holding her close, for the smallest fraction of a second I almost understand why Takeru had done what he did, even knowing why it was wrong. Because only then do I realize how easy it would be to fall right back into feelings of the past, feelings I could convince myself I might still have even though I don't. But it would have been easy—so simple to go back and remember her and what we had and taste it one more time. It would be easy to submit myself to this, to give in, to pretend.

Then she looks up at me, her honey eyes glazed with tears, cheeks pink and red mouth parted slightly, her lips so enticingly close to mine, and I can tell by her expression that she's thinking the same thing, that this wouldn't be right.

"Mimi, this isn't—," I whisper, just as she starts to draw away while shaking her head quickly, but we're both interrupted with a crash in the doorway.

I sit up and Mimi immediately lets go of me, our eyes wide.

"_Hikari_—," I gasp, voice hoarse.

But she just turns on her heels, the glass of water broken on the floor, and walks away.

Mimi jumps off the bed, following her, while I struggle with the crutches leaning on the side of the bed and attempt to go after the both of them. I manage to stagger my way into the hallway, making it to the living room just in time to see Hikari turn on Mimi and cry, "He's my _brother_, Mimi!"

"It's not what you think," she interrupts.

Hikari's shaking her head.

"How could you d—?"

"Kari, do you honestly think I would ever do something like that to Taichi?" Mimi asks, blocking the door to keep her from leaving, her voice thick with emotion and her eyes still red from crying. "I could never hurt him. I never will, I swear—,"

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Mimi," Hikari interrupts softly. "It's his heart you're breaking."

And maybe it's the way she says it, or the fact that it seems so true when she does, so clear, but Mimi can't fight back and she stops trying. She just sinks to the ground, crouching with her knees to her chest and her head in her hands, not crying anymore, now so calm, so sorrowful. Hikari just stares at her, frozen, made speechless by Mimi's breakdown, then snaps out of her daze and, trembling visibly, reaches behind her friend and pulls the door open, slipping through.

I stare at Mimi helplessly, then at the door, then at Mimi again.

I swallow hard, overwhelmed. "Mimi—,"

But she shakes her head, saying nothing and wanting me to say nothing, too.

I look at the door again, my breath caught in my chest.

"Mimi, I—,"

"Don't," she whispers. "Just go."

And then I throw myself at the door, abandoning the godforsaken crutches and limping out into the hallway of the apartment, stumbling and falling against the wall.

"Hikari!" I yell down the stairwell, making my way towards it, my busted leg dragging behind me. "_Hikari_!"

I start to limp down the steps awkwardly, gritting my teeth against the pain when I accidentally hit the edge of a stair with my injured leg. Hissing, I clench my jaw and keep going, desperate. I manage to make it down to the lobby, staggering through the doors and onto the sidewalk outside. I stop, breathing hard, looking up and down each side of the street, scanning the crowds.

"Shit," I hiss, furious with myself, and start down the sidewalk, getting knocked into by several fellow pedestrians who have the full use of both legs, the jerks. When one guy almost sends me off my feet, I throw him a nasty curse, then turn back around and feel small hands grasp the sleeve of my jacket and pull me away from the curb. I stumble again, tripping over my feet and collapsing right into Hikari's arms.

I'm so relieved I can't shut up. "Mimi—we were just—it really isn't what you think," I stammer at once, taking her by the shoulders tightly. "She's just going through a lot right now and we were talking, just talking, I swear. Taichi's my best friend, Hikari, and I would never—but I know it may have looked like something but belive me, that's all in the past and I'm different now and I want different things and you—Hikari, you've got to believe me, I would never—,"

"Yamato," she tries to interrupt, but I won't let her.

"And you know I would never do anything like that—you know, you know me, and—Kari, you're the different I want now and I'm not going to just—I'm not going to lose this chance because—,"

"Yamato," she tries again, but I'm still not done, afraid of what she might say.

"I just realized what I want and it's you, Kari, just _you_." I stop, looking at her seriously, taking the chance of a lifetime and feeling more vulnerable than I've been in a long time."And I need to know right now what—what you'll say." When she doesn't react, I panic a little, rushing as I stumble over the words,"If it's about Taichi, I thi—,"

And she kisses me, full on the mouth, arms around my neck. I'm too shocked to kiss her back properly, and she pulls away before I can. So I stare at her, stunned, and she smiles at me weakly.

"I'm sorry."

It's like falling, it really is. Except there's nothing to stop it, nothing beneath your feet but this unforgivably endless expanse of disbelief.

I stare at her.

"What?" I ask, confused, dazed, wanting to pretend I hadn't heard.

"I'm sorry," she says again, shaking her head.

And I can tell she means it, and that just makes it all the more worse.

"Wait—," I try to say, but she interrupts.

"Yamato, let's face it. This wouldn't work, and you and I both know it," she explains softly, looking down at her shoes. "I want to believe it might, but…but Taichi—,"

"I'll talk to him," I insist, earnest. "I will. Hikari, don't let something like that—,"

"It's not just him. It's everything, Yamato. We're too different—,"

"Just—Hikari, please, just give me a chance," I say.

She looks at me, doubtful, thinking.

"_Please_," I whisper.

She shuts her eyes, taking a deep breath. "I just can't," she bursts out, and before I can react she shoves past me and disappears into the crowd, leaving me standing awkwardly on the sidewalk, staring after her.

I blink slowly, trying to figure out what even happened, numb.

Then I groan, leaning back against the wall of the building we'd been standing in front of, running both hands through my hair, frustrated. What's _wrong_ with me? And when the hell did my life get so damn complicated? My brother betrayed his friend and ran away to France to escape from it all. My ex is having serious doubts about her current relationship. And I think I'm falling for my best friend's little sister.

_Fuck_.

I glare at the sidewalk, clenching my fingers into fists.

This is not how it's going to end. I'm not like this, and I'm not just going to give up. I'm better than that. I haven't gotten this far to let it end like this, to become like _this_. I am not losing something before it even began. Even if it means facing Taichi myself.

I grimace, cowering at the thought of telling him. Okay. Maybe I should seriously think about this first.

_Hey, Taichi. How's life? How's work? Liking London so far? Oh, and by the way, would you mind terribly if I took your kid sister out?_

He'd kill me.

_Hey, Taichi. I was thinking that maybe the best thing for Hikari is a classy, older, more mature man who could give her a lot more than—_

Who the hell do I think I'm kidding?

_Hey, Taichi, do you realize what an exceptionally phenomenal kisser your sister is?_

Ishida Yamato, you're a dead man.

* * *


	12. Chapter 12: Taichi

**Done That**

* * *

Women, fame, and money. Things normal guys would enjoy. But Taichi, Takeru, Jyou and Yamato, four frustrated, desperate, clueless, and indecisive young men, are just about ready to throw in the chips. AU Sequel to 'Been There.' 

**Disclaimer**: I don't own.

* * *

I now have great empathy for Yamato and Koushiro during all the times they stayed up with me while I recovered from hangovers and other such consequences of my more stupid habits. 

We hadn't even left the newspaper building before Daisuke staggered into the bathroom, flinging open one of the stalls and throwing up into the toilet. I had to hold him by the arm, awkwardly trying to figure out what else I could do while shaking in my own fury at the same time. When he was done, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he slumped down against the wall of the stall, staring at nothing, his chest heaving. I didn't say anything, letting go of his arm and sitting back, giving him space.

And then, "What am I supposed to do now, Taichi?" he whispered.

I stared at him, silent.

"Go back? To what? What's _there_?"

"Daisuke," I said finally. "You don't have to face this now. You don't need to do anything now—,"

"But when do I?_"_ he interrupted. "Taichi—Taichi, what am I supposed to _do_?"

And he slouched, holding his head in his hands.

"How—_how_ do I even go back? Is that _possible_? Am I supposed to _pretend_ it is? That it's possible to kiss her again and hold her again without either of us remembering this? That it's possible to make love to her again and not wonder who she's thinking of when I do? _How do I go _back?"

Then he laughed, "And—fucking hell, I'm not even angry or—I just—I don't even know _what_ I am…."

He stopped talking after that, face in his hands, and I didn't say anything either, just staring at him. Then he was sick a few more times, and I somehow managed to talk him into following me. I took him back to Ken and Miyako's place, and they—thankfully—weren't there to ask questions. Daisuke went to clean himself up, and that was when I called Yamato.

I have no idea what the hell Takeru was thinking.

I have no idea what I'll do to him next time I see him, either.

That kind of betrayal just doesn't—you _can't_ go back after that. You just _can't_. And maybe I don't know everything about what happened, but I don't want to and I don't need to. Trust is the most important thing between friends. And you just _don't_ break that.

I went back to the apartment to retrieve the puppies, bringing them to Ken and Miyako's just in time to find Daisuke all packed and ready to go. He said he needed to get away for a while, said that he'd call Ken later, said that Jun was willing to let him stay at her flat for a few days. And after that—

"I don't know," he shrugged, not looking at me. "I just…need some time alone for a while."

So I respected his wishes.

Well, for the most part.

Hey, I can't help it. He's my friend. I feel responsible, in a weird, twisted way. So I called up Jun a few times over the next few days, and after about the fifth time of listening to her "I-told-him-he-was-too-damn-young" rant, I stopped and started calling his cell phone instead. Told him whenever he felt like coming back, I'd be there. He never said much, but I didn't expect him, too, but I knew that if it were me, I'd appreciate the sentiment at least. Finally though, nearly a week later, he agreed to come back to Ken's apartment.

It's a huge surprise, naturally, when the doorbell rings that afternoon he said he'd be back and I answer the call only to find Sumiko standing there, shifting on her feet nervously.

I stare at her.

"Um—," she says, the surprise on her face not nearly as grand as mine.

"Er—Sumiko, hi," I stammer after a moment, confused.

_Shit_.

If he came and found her here—

"Dai said he wanted to talk," she explains in a soft voice, fingering the strap of her purse anxiously.

_Oh!_

My eyes widen. "Here?"

"That's what he said in his message," she adds, looking around, confused. "Unless—,"

"Sorry I'm late," Daisuke's voice calls from the hallway of the building. He's inside the flat minutes later. "I was held up at the subway station by this—," and then he stops.

Well, this is awkward.

"Hi," Sumiko says.

He stares at her. "Hi."

After a moment, I cough. "So, I'll just leave now—,"

"No," Daisuke interrupts quickly. I raise an eyebrow, and he shakes his head. "You can stay. Please," he adds.

I nod. "Sure."

Daisuke nods to the bedroom, and Sumiko glances at me before following him. I take a deep breath, collapsing on the couch. Sometimes, I wish I had his strength, I really do. I have no idea how he does it, how he can face this when the pain's that fresh. And thinking back on my relationship with Mimi, even before New York, I know there were times and there still are times when I think I could have used that kind of conviction.

Then I hear the door unlock.

"—swear, Mimi, that is just the nicest clinic and the friendliest staff I've ever seen. If I'm ever pregnant, I'm totally going there. Do you want anything to drink before we finish the errands—?"

I sit up at once. _What?_

Immediately turning around, I see Miyako and Mimi standing in the doorway, both frozen in their places, most likely not expecting me to be here. Ken must not have told his fiancé he'd let me in earlier to wait for Daisuke, though I could have sworn the guy tells Miyako everything under the bloody sun….

I can tell how freaked out Miyako is just by the way she practically yells my name in greeting. "_Taichi_! _Hi_! What—what are you doing here?"

"Ken let me in," I say faintly, still stuck on what she'd been saying to my girlfriend when they first walked in. I stare at Mimi now, stunned.

"Oh, did he? Well…that's—that's nice of him…. Where _is_ Ken?"

"Out," I say.

"Oh! Of course," Miyako swallows hard. "Well, why don't I give you two a moment," she babbles, diving back into the hallway. "I've got to call Hikari for—for something anyway—,"

And then she's gone.

I stand slowly. "Is there something you want to tell me?" I ask Mimi, feeling—well, not entirely sure _what_ I'm feeling.

She flushes.

"I'm not pregnant," she says quickly.

And the knot in my stomach loosens and I relax—only to be startled to taste disappointment instead. I blink, surprised. _Disappointment? The hell—?_ I shake my head, clenching my jaw tightly.

"I just—had a little bit of a scare for a while," she explains.

I smack myself mentally.

"Which would explain the Puppy-Misunderstanding confusion," I mutter. "Christ, Mimi, I didn't know—,"

"Of course you didn't," she interrupts. "I understand, Taichi."

And that makes me feel even more awful. How do I jump to these conclusions all the time?

Scowling at myself, I shake my head, running a hand through my hair nervously. "Do you—d'you want to talk about it…?"

She smiles, holding out her hand. Relieved, I take her in my arms and hold her close.

"I'm sorry," I whisper in her ear, kissing her hair.

She tucks her face into my neck, not saying anything.

"Is there anything I can do?"

But she just shakes her head. I really hate seeing her so sad, and I hate it even more knowing I'm helpless to change anything. It shouldn't be this way. I'm supposed to be everything for her, to her.

"Mimi—,"

"Taichi?" Daisuke's voice interrupts.

I pull back a little and we turn to see Daisuke and Sumiko in the hallway, looking both hopeful and a little guilty for interrupting us.

"Sorry, we'll get out of your way," Sumiko apologizes at once, heading for the door.

Daisuke stares after her, hesitating before glancing back at me.

"Well?" I prod.

He shrugs. "Counselling for a while…. And then," he takes a deep breath, "then we'll decide."

"That's really great, Daisuke," Mimi says, but only I realize what a big step this really is. But I don't say anything about it, smiling at him instead, but I know he understands. He nods his head, murmuring his thanks to me, really meaning it, and then taking off after his wife.

_Wow_.

"I think they might actually be able to work it out," I say softly, surprised.

"That's Daisuke for you," Mimi says, amused. "Bearer of miracles, that one."

And I agree with her…but I can't help but wonder how many miracles he's got left. Although, if he's willing to get help with Sumiko, then maybe there's still something there for his best friend.

But even miracles only save so much.

Then I realize Mimi's trying to get my attention.

"Huh?" I blink at her, confused.

She's smiling a little. "You all right?"

"Yeah," I reply automatically.

She studies me carefully.

"You can tell me anything, you know."

I smile back, "Mimi, I'm fine, really."

She glances away.

"Taichi, I think we need to talk," she says, now that we're alone.

"Okay," I agree cautiously. "About what?"

"Something that I've been thinking about lately, about us. Something I need to clear up. So just…just go with me on this, okay?"

I can't help but grow a little wary at that, wondering what this all about, but she's looking at me with all seriousness now, and so I nod. She takes a seat on the sofa and then pats the place next to her. I take it, turning to face her.

"Absolute honesty," she reminds me.

I nod again.

She hesitates.

"Do you love me?"

I breathe a sigh of relief. Okay, so maybe this won't be as bad as I'd originally thought.

"More than anything, Mi, I swear to God," I whisper. She smiles a little, and I lean in to kiss her. But she turns her face and shakes her head so I pull away, the feeling of dread sinking back. I swallow the lump in my throat and wait nervously, unable to even understand why I'm so nervous to begin with.

"Your turn," she says.

I smirk. "Twenty questions, is it?"

"Ask me something. Anything. I just…I think since we started being honest with each other, we need to know the truth about these things."

"Fair enough," I agree. "So I can ask you anything?"

She smiles. "Whatever you want."

I pause, "Were you happy living in London with me?"

She nods slowly, "Most of the time. I just…it was hard at first, being so far away from everyone, you know? But I could come home to you, and that was enough."

"But some nights, I wasn't there waiting, was I?" I add very quietly.

She doesn't say anything, but I know it's true. I remember every single night I wasn't there for her, every time I put what was important to me ahead of what was important to us. And I hated it every time, but I kept doing it. I _keep_ doing it.

"But I understood why you had to," she interrupts my thoughts.

"I shouldn't've done that to you."

She smiles and reaches out to take my hand in hers, our fingers entwined.

"Where do you see us tomorrow?"

I frown a little, "What do you—?"

"I mean, where do you see us going, Tai?" she interrupts carefully.

I stare at her blankly.

"I don't—," and then I stop, holding my breath. "I can't predict the future, Mi. Isn't it—isn't it enough that we're even here now?"

"Is it?" she asks.

I smile a little, trying to sort this out. "I don't understand."

"Don't you ever feel like…like there's something more we're missing?"

I pull my hand away. "Mimi, what's going on?"

"I've been really thinking about us, Taichi," she says softly, "and I just—it doesn't _feel_ like it should anymore. Haven't you noticed something's different?"

"What—what's different?"

She shakes her head.

"Taichi—,"

"No," I refuse her protests firmly. "No, I want you to tell me what's different. Tell me."

She looks away, chewing her bottom lip.

"Do you remember why you left for Japan alone?"

I wince. "It was just another fight—,"

"Exactly, Taichi," she shakes her head. "It was 'just another fight.' And I hate how we make these fights and arguments so _natural_, why we just accept them for less than what they really are because deep down we both know what acknowledging them will mean." She takes a deep breath, "But I don't want us to be like that. I don't want to end up like that. I know how much you care about me and you know I'd do anything for you, except _this_. Except cheat ourselves out of the relationship we could have. I love you too much to do that to you, I really do, Taichi."

I can't think of anything to say, anything to do. So I get up off the couch, walking to the other side of the room, turning around to stare at her.

She goes on, "The night of Miyako's party—everything that happened—and then how you said we were done—,"

And it hits me. My eyes are wide.

"You already thought we were done," I say, more of a statement than a question.

She nods painfully. "I'd been thinking a part of us had been over for a long time when that happened, Taichi, and it really felt like a part of us had been done. And I hated it, I still do—but I can't keep ignoring it anymore. Something's changing, Tai, and I'm so afraid that if we keep pretending we're all right we're just going to make this worse."

I don't say anything.

She bites her lip. "I never meant for it to turn out like this—,"

"What I don't understand," I interrupt slowly, feeling unusually lightheaded, "is that if you really wanted us to be done, why'd you let me come back that day on the train? You should have stopped me, you should have hated me and ended it then—,"

"Taichi, I don't hate you, and I don't want us to be over," she insists, teary-eyed. "And your coming back was everything I needed, because everything you said—I really want to believe what you said, Taichi, but I can't ignore these feelings anymore. I'm just—I just need to think about this. I need to figure out what I want, what I need. And right now, everything inside of me is telling me I _need_ something more than_ this_."

"Even if that means—?"

"I don't know what it means!" she interrupts, leaning forward on the sofa. "I just—I need _time_ to figure out what we're doing, what this is all about, what I really want. Can't you understand? I just need some time to figure this out—,"

I shut my eyes. I can't listen to this, I can't focus or sort anything out, because suddenly everything feels like it's crashing down so mercilessly, and I can barely even breathe. I'm trying to stay levelheaded. I'm trying to listen and understand, but this is—I can't handle _this_—

"Okay."

The silence lingers so long, I repeat myself just to make sure I'd really said it. And it's taking everything in me to keep from screaming it at her, but in all honesty, I feel too numb to react any other way. So I open my eyes again and stare at her sadly.

"You want time. Okay."

Her eyes are round with surprise. "You—,"

"What do you want me to say, Mimi? No?" I interrupt more harshly than I mean.

She flinches a little, pale, and I drop my voice.

"Look, I can't—how you feel is something only you can decide, and if you think you need time to think about that, then neither of us have any choice." I pause, thinking, my throat dry. "And maybe you're right. Time apart might do us good," I suggest quietly. "It'll give each of us time to…to _think_. So maybe…maybe we should…."

But I can't even say it.

She glances away, hands clenched in her lap.

It all feels like a twilight zone experience, like this isn't really happening to me, not to me. Not to us. And I can't believe I'm even here, that we're here after everything. After Valentine's Days and dented car doors and days in hell and New York and tattoo parlors in London. And now _this_. And as wrong as it's supposed to feel, I don't feel anything at all. I can't do anything but look at her blankly, numbly, waiting for somebody to wake me up. And all I can think is that at least Daisuke has someone to blame for his living hell. But am supposed to be angry at her? Should I? Because I'm looking at her now, and I just can't.

"You know what?" I say suddenly, unexpectedly.

She looks up, honey eyes staring, solemn.

"What we had—before any of this, what we had—it _was_ good," I tell her after a long moment.

The slow, sad smile spreads across her face. "Yes. It was."

I return the smile, though even I can tell how fake it is.

"I don't regret it, Mimi. No matter what happens now. I'm not regretting that."

She nods. The silence returns, awkwardly and awfully. I take a deep breath, willing myself to be calm, to stay calm. Then the door opens. "I just saw Daisuke and Sumiko and I think they're getting back togeth—," Miyako stops, realizing by the looks on our faces that she might have come at a bad time. "Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't—,"

"It's nothing, Miyako," Mimi interrupts coolly. "We were just—,"

"We're done," I interrupt.

And she looks at me, gaze unreadable. I shake my head.

My cell phone goes off.

I shut my eyes briefly and swear under my breath, gritting my teeth.

Miyako bites her lip as Mimi wordlessly rises from her chair and moves to the door. I watch her, unable to look away no matter how desperately I want to. And when I see she'd not going to turn back, I call after her in a rush, panicked, only then realizing what I'm just about to do, what we've just done to each other, knowing my voice is betraying all the lies I'd been pretending up until then.

_This can't be happening. This can't be happening. It can't_—

But then she meets my gaze, and I catch myself.

I swallow back the words and smile weakly at her.

"Take care of yourself, okay?"

"You, too, Taichi," she says softly.

And it isn't even surprising how beautiful I still find her, even when she's walking away from me, not for a few hours or even a day, but for _good_.

I just stare at the closed door, stuck in my disbelief.

This is really it, isn't it?

My cell phone rings again, and I jump, startled.

Looking at the screen, I see my boss's name flash urgently and I groan. _Not now…._ But knowing it's no use hiding anymore, and with nothing else to do at the moment, I take the call with reluctance.

"Yagami," I answer mechanically.

"_Where the _hell_ have you been_?" my boss screams into my ear.

I wince, "Sir—,"

"Do you have _any_ idea how many times my secretary tried to reach you? Do you not realize how _important_ this business is? Do you not value your career at _all_?"

I don't reply, guilty.

"Look, when I gave you leave for personal matters, we agreed that I still had you on call in case anything happened. And the _minute_ something does, your cell phone goes to voicemail, your emails bounce back, and your pager is out of service! Dammit, Yagami, prove my instincts wrong and tell me I didn't hire a _complete_ idiot!"

When I still don't answer, he gets even more irritated, furious.

"_Are you even _listening_ to me_?" he bellows.

I stare at the closed door in front of me.

"No, sir, I'm not," I say softly.

He explodes, "Who the _shit_ do you think you _are_? What happened to the best businessman I've ever worked with? The next time you speak to me with such disrespect I swear to _God_ I will fire your ass so fast you'll spend _years_ recovering!"

I lower my voice, "I apologize, sir."

"Damn right you're sorry! You have got to stop wavering like this, Yagami. This isn't like you and I don't like it. That sort of attitude doesn't make for good business sense and I'll be damned if I let you waste what's been given to you on a goddamn golden platter. You need to own up to your responsibilities, young man, and you better start with the right decisions. I haven't spent all my time training you and teaching you everything I know for you to act like _this_ now. You're better than this."

I straighten, my breath hitched in my chest.

"But you've got to shape up. Stop with all this 'emotional needs' crap. Your family is the company; the company is your family. There is nothing else. You don't _need_ anything else—,"

I grip my phone tightly.

"Sir," I cut in calmly, surely.

"What?" he snaps, sore at being interrupted.

"I would like to thank you for your help. I am eternally grateful for the experience."

"It's about time you realize what I—,"

"And sir?"

"_What_?" he hisses, even angrier at this second interruption.

"Fuck you."

And before either of us can register what I've just done, I toss my cell phone in the trash, that chapter in my life finally over.

_Damn_, that felt good.

* * *


	13. Chapter 13: Takeru

**Done That**

Women, fame, and money. Things normal guys would enjoy. But Taichi, Takeru, Jyou and Yamato, four frustrated, desperate, clueless, and indecisive young men, are just about ready to throw in the chips. AU Sequel to 'Been There.'

**Disclaimer**: I don't own.

**Author's Note**: Sorry for the long, long absence, guys. It's been a little hectic for me, as you can probably tell by the writing quality of this chapter. But hopefully, I will be correcting that soon. This should be the last not-really-fun chapter, so if you're as sick of the unfortunate situations and problems and issues as I am, then the next few chapters will be much more to our liking. But I had to get this one out of the way and over with, but please bear with me. The drama's just about over! On to the humor (after this chapter...)!

---------------------------------

Well, it's official.

France is as boring as—

"You certainly 'aven't grown," a low voice laughs behind me.

Caught in mid-sip, I grip my wine glass tightly, startled, and find myself face to face with a classic French beauty. And I mean, she is just _gorgeous_. And foreign. With an accent.

_Hell, yeah._

Unfortunately, I'm already half-way intoxicated and you all know what any level of alcoholic consumption can do to me. Let's just say the French are very generous and willing when it comes to their liquor. And let's just say I think I need it—or at the very least, I want it and I'll take what I can get.

Anyway, my reaction is hardly what I wanted, but it was too late: "Huh?" I squeak stupidly.

She grins again, shaking her head with her arms crossed over her chest. She's wearing a strapless white gown that drops to just below her knees. Her blonde hair hangs in curls around her shoulders, and she has her head cocked to the side so long bangs fall in front of her deep blue-gray eyes, half-shielding their twinkling smirk.

_Wait_.

Blue-gray eyes….

I gape at her. "_Cat_?"

With a squeal, she throws her arms around my neck and pulls me into a tight embrace. Then she steps back to look me over.

"Oh, I am so very pleased to see you," she beams.

I'm still reeling from the shock.

"You—you look—you—," I stammer, shocked, my words trailing to silence. Then I burst out, "_Mon dieu_, how the hell did you lose all that _weight_?"

She smacks me in the forehead with her purse.

"_Idiot_."

I turn my face to plant a kiss on the back of her hand, taking her by the wrist, grinning.

"Aw, come on, you always look amazing, Catherine."

She waves her purse dismissively. "_Non, non_, I refuse to listen to your shameless flirting—,"

"Please, a little credit. As though I would ever be caught dead flirting with _you_."

"Mm," she smirks, tucking loose blonde tresses behind her ear as she shakes her head knowingly, "you never change, do you, Takeru?"

I smirk back.

"Even when I wish I could."

She smiles. "Oh, I 'ope you never will. You're the only reason I come to these stupid parties at all. You and Yamato."

"Really? Even after The Lizard-Down-Dear-Catherine's-Uber-Expensive-Cashmere-Shirt Incident of—oh, let's say, fourteen, thirteen odd years ago?"

She shudders.

"It wasn't even five years ago, you _idiots_, and you two were _so_ 'orrible to me…."

"Only out of love."

"V_raiment_? You love me? Then I dare you to prove it."

I raise an eyebrow. "Well, if you _really_ want me to…."

She smacks me again, making a face. Then she grins slyly. "Dance with me."

"I can't dance," I say. "You know I can't."

But she's already left her purse on the chair by the drinks, heading to the center of the room where the other couples are gathered. She turns around, gesturing to me, hands outstretched.

"Dance with me."

"Cat—," I shake my head, but she interrupts.

"I'm waiting," she calls in a sing-song voice she knows annoys me.

I make a big show about giving in to her demands and dragging myself over to her, and she rolls her eyes, slipping an arm around my neck and taking my hand with the other. And despite the act I put on, I'm actually enjoying myself. I figure if I keep the footwork to a minimum and just let her lead, I can avoid any serious injury. At least, that's the theory I've learned to work with since Miyako made me take a waltz class with her in college. That still gives me nightmares.

But Catherine's different. Her family's been friends with mine for years. Basically, whenever my mother dragged us home to France to teach us about our roots and that kinda crap, she'd be there to sympathize with my brother and me. In our younger years we'd spend whole summers together, and I still consider her one of my greatest friends, despite how far apart we are. An accomplished law student in her college days, she's now working for this global humanitarian legal organization, a career her super rich parents weren't too thrilled about but one that made my mother very happy at least.

Since then, my mother's been trying to set us up. In fact, I have reason to suspect that our families are in cohorts to make sure Cat ends up with either me or Yamato. And since she's secretly harbored a crush on _neither_ one of us, it hasn't worked out quite as well as her truly frightening parents would like.

Besides, Catherine and I are almost too close, if that makes sense. It would almost be incestuous. Of course, at the rate I'm going, that might actually _improve_ my situation.

"So what brings you home to France, _mon cher_?" she whispers in my ear, bringing me out of my daydreams.

I smile faintly.

"Just needed a break."

"Mm…running away, are we?"

"Straight into your arms."

"Takeru," she pulls back and looks at me seriously, her hands resting on my shoulders. "What's wrong?"

I pull her close against me, determined not to breakdown now, not again, not here. "Nothing, Cat."

She sighs. "I hate it when you lie to me."

Choosing to ignore her, I pull her back in my arms to resume the dance (or the harmless swaying, rather). She doesn't say anything more, and opting not to break the awkward silence just yet, I instead glance over the top of her blonde head and sweep my gaze across the room. My mother's still seated at the table, chatting with my maternal grandfather and will most likely be stuck there for hours with the way his conversations usually run. My grandmother's making her rounds with the other guests, some vaguely familiar, some new faces. It's just like how I remember these dinner parties.

Except for one thing.

I frown, checking the room one more time.

"Cat, where's—?"

"Takeru, it's almost midnight. That is way past her bedtime."

"She's alone then?"

"Of course not. My uncle is sitting with her."

I stop and take her hand. "Then lets go."

Catherine purses her lips. "You are not waking her up just to say 'ello."

"One, she'll say '_ello_ to me any time 'cause I'm her favorite and she said so; and two, she's not sleeping and you know it."

"_Takeru_—,"

But I'm already gone, grabbing my coat from the closet by the door. She makes a big show about giving in to my demands and dragging herself over to me, and I roll my eyes at the old routine, holding the door open for her while she glides out, pausing only once to toss her hair into my face.

"Hey!" I yelp, batting at my nose, ticklish. "I hate it when you do that!"

She squeals again, laughing, and races through the lobby of the hotel where my grandmother had thrown the apartment. I stumble after her, struggling with my coat. I finally catch up with her on the street outside, linking arms to drag her towards her town-house.

"_Non_! That's wrong!"

I stop in the middle of the deserted street, staring back at her. "What?"

"I moved out, Takeru," she explains, pulling her shawl around her. "I bought an apartment."

I stare.

"On _your_ crappy salary?"

"It's a _deux-pièces_," she continues, nose in the air as she walks by me, leading the way, "so it is small, but it is enough."

I sigh, "So what is this, your third move in the past four years?"

"I'm a picky woman."

"I'll say."

"_Idiot_."

We reach her new apartment, and I'm a bit skeptical about the neighborhood, but before I can complain, she's unlocked the door and is calling for her uncle.

Now one thing you should know is that Catherine's uncle is the family kook. As her father's eldest brother, the man is in his late sixties but retains the energy of an eight-year-old. Which is great for Cat, since her daughter just turned four and is already well settled in a rebellious stage that reminds me of how Yamato was in secondary school. Needless to say, that's a little worrisome, but we've got a few years left yet.

Élise is one of those angels-by-day-rascals-by-night kinds of kids, but it's impossible to stay angry at that cute little face for more than two minutes. She's short for her age and has wide green eyes and short, frizzy brown hair, all features courtesy of her father. She doesn't have any of her mother's physical features, so whenever she's visiting with maternal grandparents, awkward silences and one notable absence is always present. Cat's husband, who her parents never really liked, passed away in a car accident before their daughter was born. I don't think Cat's ever quite gotten over it, despite how long it's been, but she never shows it.

As soon as I step through the door, I'm overwhelmed by the sounds of an explosive football match on the television, Cat's uncle cheering the German team on (see why the rest of the family alienates him?), and Cat's daughter running around in her yellow bunny pajamas, bouncing and leaping from the sofa.

Catherine yells, "What is going on?"

The culprits freeze, caught.

Her uncle stands slowly, guiltily. "Catherine! Back so soon?"

"_Thomas_," she begins her lecture, sighing and shaking her head, but Élise interrupts with a shriek, catapulting herself towards me.

"You're here! You're here!" she cries, leaping onto me.

"Hey, you," I laugh, hoisting her up into my arms. "Aren't you supposed to be in bed?"

"_Oui_!" she chirps, kissing my cheek. "Will you read me a story?"

"Don't try and delay it any longer," Catherine interrupts sternly. "He can tuck you in and you two can spend the day together _tomorrow_. Okay?"

Élise groans, "Okay, okay…."

Of course, it takes another hour, but finally Cat's uncle leaves for the night and Élise is finally asleep and I collapse on the couch, flipping through the channels on the television set. Catherine reaches over and pulls the remote out of my hand, turning it off.

"Now you've got no where to hide, Mr. Takaishi," she tells me with a smirk. She turns to face me on the sofa, her elbow on the resting on top of the sofa and her chin propped up by her palm. "What's the real reason you're here?"

"Because I missed you?"

She gives me a knowing look.

I sigh, sliding lower into the cushions. "I told you, I just needed a break."

"Is it your work? Did something happen with—?"

"I'm serious, Cat. I'm fine."

She cups my chin with her free hand and forces my head to turn so I have to look at her.

I shut my eyes, wrinkling my nose.

"I made a mistake," I admit after a long moment, "and I don't think I can fix it."

"'ave you tried?"

"No…."

"Then what makes you so sure it won't work?"

I don't say anything, hesitating for a moment. "I'm sure," I whisper finally. "How could I possibly amend for what I did?"

"Well, if you just tell me what 'appened, maybe I can—,"

"It's not like that!" I interrupt harshly, frustrated, quickly getting up from the couch. She stares at me, surprised, and I scowl, more irritated at myself but feeling too prideful to admit it just yet. "God, you and Yamato are just alike, always trying to solve my problems—,"

"Don't take it out on _me_, Takeru," she berates. "And don't take it out on your brother. 'e loves you, we both love you. _Why_, I don't know, especially with the way you choose to carry on…."

"Forget it."

"Takeru," she sighs. "I'm sorry, _d'accord_? But you just can't expect to ignore everything and 'ope that will make it all go away. You can't deal with problems like that. It's not healthy."

I open my mouth to retaliate, but nothing comes out. I stare at her and she meets my gaze calmly. I shake my head, vaguely numb to it all. None of this seems very real, being here after everything that happened. It just seems…strange. And I start with the first thing that comes into my mind, "I'm a jerk."

She accepts my apology and adds, "You're just stressed."

"Stop sugarcoating the truth, Cat," I mumble. "It's not helping and I don't deserve it."

She swears in French, throwing her hands up in the air. "Will you stop with the self-pity already?"

"It's not—,"

"Yes, it is, and _don't_ tell me I don't understand."

And the next thing I know, I'm telling her everything. By the time I'm done she's holding my hand, and she hasn't shunned me or judged me or done anything that I was expecting, but then again, I should have known _she_ wouldn't. When I pause, taking a deep breath, she asks me gently, "But do you really think being 'ere is going to make things easier when you go back?" When I fail to reply, she frowns. "You _are_ planning to go 'ome, aren't you, Takeru?"

"Think any Parisian newspapers are hiring?"

"Come on, Takeru," she says, squeezing my hand. "You don't run and hide; you're better than that."

"I thought I was," I mutter.

"What did I tell you about the self-pity thing?"

"Well, how would you like it if you turned out to be everything you never thought you could be?"

She smiles serenely at me. "I did like it."

I stare at her.

"When Adrian passed away, I didn't think I could ever 'andle 'aving to be loyal to his memory and raise his child and work to pay for it all by myself, but I did. And I turned out to be more than I thought I could be. I learned things about myself I never knew before, and it wasn't all easy. You 'ave no idea 'ow much I hated myself some days when I thought I couldn't 'andle things anymore, but that didn't stop me. I had Élise and a second chance to fight for, and I wasn't going to let myself down any longer." She turns her face to smile up at me. "You can't go back, go forward. And if they say they're your friends, then they will be. People can surprise you in good ways, too."

I know she's right, but I only sink down into the sofa and ruffle my hair tiredly.

She leans forward where she sits.

"Look, you need time and that's fine. In fact, it's probably for the best you've separated yourself like this for a little while. But you mustn't let it drag on any longer. You can't sincerely look me in the eye and tell me you're going to quit now. It will take time, granted, but trust _can_ be won back."

I smile weakly. "I think you're being a bit too idealistic."

"No, Takeru," she shakes her head, blonde curls falling over her shoulders, "I'm being realistic. God mends the brokenhearted. But 'e is going to wait for you to take the first step, and even if it only means you fall 'arder, you've got something greater than yourself looking out for you—your friends."

I don't say anything, nodding vaguely.

After a moment, she changes the subject with a declaration of her extreme fatigue, offering a chance for me to spend the night with her and Élise, if I wanted. I decide to go back to the hotel, giving Cat the address so she could deliver her daughter to me in the morning before she herself heads off to work. Then she hugs me good night and tells me I haven't changed to her, that she still believes in me. I'm wondering if perhaps she's gotten even more delusional than she was when I last saw her, but I know she's actually telling the truth.

And maybe she's right about everything, as usual.

But how many times can you say "sorry"?

And perhaps I did learn something about myself; perhaps I learned that every person is capable of hurting the ones they care for the most by their own account, of their own actions, of their own mistakes. And maybe it's a truth I never wanted to learn, but now that I have—does it really change me? Or have I simply been made aware?

Because underneath it all, it's a realization that scares and sickens me, but it's also made me realize what the cost of friendship is, not just with others but with yourself. You really _are_ your own worst enemy, and yet at the same time only _you_ can make yourself change for any better, and only out of your own sincerity.

Maybe I had to learn it in the hardest way possible, but at least I understand now.

I _can't_ stop here.

I _can't_ stop like this.

And I won't.

I'm still thinking about that when Catherine and Élise arrive the next morning right on the dime. Élise hugs me hello and then asks to watch cartoons, to which Cat tries to tell her no, but I've already said yes. Catherine gives me a look, asking that I do not corrupt her daughter's mind with hypnotic television shows all day. I promise I won't, and she excuses herself to the restroom to check herself over once more before going to work.

I'm making breakfast for Élise, who is about the easiest person in the world to cook for (just add chocolate), when the phone rings suddenly, jogging me out of my thoughts. I blink, confused, and in my slow reaction to the call, Élise torpedoes out of the living room of the hotel suite and races to the phone on the table by the door. She's answered before I can take it from her, and she screams into the phone, "A_llô? _A_llô?_"

I try and shake her off, "Élise, give me the phone—,"

She ignores me, yelling at the top of her voice, "_Qui est à l'appareil_?"

"_Élise_," I warn, grabbing the phone out her chubby hands. She sticks out her tongue at me and I pinch her cheek, shooing her away. When she pouts unhappily, still trying to speak to the caller, I add as a bribe, "Go on, finish your breakfast and I'll take you out, all right?"

That's the ticket.

"Good-bye!" she yells into the phone, jumping from the chair and darting past my reach. I chuckle, shaking my head, and pick up the phone.

"Sorry about that," I greet cheerily. "May I ask who's calling?"

There's a bit of a silence.

Then he replies in a low voice, "You're in France because of me, aren't you?"

I don't answer, frozen.

He takes a deep breath. "Listen. This is between you and me. Don't take it out on Ken and Miyako. They want you here, so you have to be here."

I have no idea how I can managed to say something, but I do.

"I'll be there," I stammer, throat dry.

"Good."

"Good," I answer shortly.

He pauses. "Well, then…. That's…all I wanted to say. So tell 'Hi' to Cat for me—,"

"Daisuke—," I interrupt.

"Yeah?"

I shut my eyes.

"Can't we talk?"

He's quiet. But his voice isn't cold, nor friendly, nor anything I can recognize, but I'm too desperate to hear anything from him to notice. "I…don't know right now. I'm sorry."

I open my mouth to say something, anything, but a soft voice interrupts: "Who is it?"

I look up, slightly dazed, then numbly hand the phone to Catherine as she steps out of the bathroom at that exact moment, like a divine gift of providence, _Thank you, God_. She reads novels from the look on my face but she doesn't skip a beat.

"_Daisuke_! Darling, how _are_ you?" she croons, trailing into the hallway. I sink against the wall, shutting my eyes. Groaning, I bury my face in my hands and slide down to the floor.

"Fucking Christ," I whisper, biting my lip.

"What does that mean?"

I jump, eyes snapping open.

Élise is munching on a slice of bread smothered in Nutella chocolate. She scrutinizes me with her dark green eyes.

"Uh—,"

"Élise, eat at the table!" Cat saves me yet again, scolding her daughter, who responds by stuffing her face and racing back to her morning cartoons.

-----------------------------------------


	14. Chapter 14: Jyou

**Done That**

Women, fame, and money. Things normal guys would enjoy. But Taichi, Takeru, Jyou and Yamato, four frustrated, desperate, clueless, and indecisive young men, are just about ready to throw in the chips. AU Sequel to 'Been There.'

**Disclaimer**: I don't own.

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"If you value my friendship at all, Jyou, _get rid of him_."

Standing in the doorway of Takeru's apartment, where Taichi and Yamato are still staying, my hand still poised to knock before Yamato—seemingly having a second sense about these sort of arrivals—threw open the door, I stare at him in total confusion.

"Get rid of what?" I ask again, blankly.

Yamato looks more desperate than I've ever seen him before. Letting go of his crutch, he grabs me by the collar, whispering hoarsely, "Bribe him, drag him, dump his dead body in a fucking cornfield—I don't care _how_ but I am _begging_ you to save us from the _insanity_, for the love of—!"

"Yamato, where's the screwdriver?" Taichi's voice yells.

The blond hangs his head.

"Screwdriver?" I repeat.

"Come on, I need it!" Taichi shouts impatiently.

Ken, who's standing behind me, now voices his worry. "Did something happen? Is anything broken—?"

"Nothing was working less than perfectly before _he_ got his hands on it," Yamato mutters vehemently, letting go of me and hobbling back to the kitchen.

Exchanging looks, Ken and I follow him. We find Taichi lying flat on his back, poking around under the kitchen sink. His newly purchased set of tools have been unceremoniously dumped in a black toolbox by his side, just barely within arm's reach. Right now he's groping for it blindly, digging through it until his fingers close around a wrench that still has the price tag sticker on its handle.

I cross my arms over my chest, sighing, and Ken scratches his head. Yamato mutters to himself while getting the coffee he offers us.

So this is how the unemployed spend their time.

I couldn't believe he'd actually quit his job, and I didn't buy his explanation for a second when he told me, but it didn't take too long to figure out he was telling the truth. But _Taichi_, out of a job? Was that even _allowed_? When I'd asked him about it, though, he simply waved it off and said he wanted a change. I have yet to figure this man out, but suddenly, I'm not entirely sure if that's even possible. Especially after I found out what happened between him and Mimi (courtesy of Miyako, who spread the news like wildfire, God bless her).

None of us really knew what to think when these two revelations came up out of no where.

I mean, what were we supposed to do?

But apparently, neither of _them_ want _us_ to do anything.

Mimi's totally engrossed in wedding preparations and Taichi's—well, he's discovered another calling.

Anything, I guess, to keep from thinking about what they let go.

I'd heard about his suspicious actions ever since he and Mimi went on their break, but I didn't think it was this bad. Now, as I look around the far from tidy apartment, I realize I'd greatly underestimated the situation. The stove is also "broken", as is the freezer, the kitchen cupboards, the toaster, an alarm clock that had been carefully taken apart and left for dead for on the counter, and the hinges of all the doors in the flat, all of which no longer close, open, or show any sign of ever working properly again.

I clear my throat.

"Found a hobby, have you?"

Startled, Taichi looks up too quickly and smacks his forehead against the pipes. He swears, dropping the wrench and rubbing his head.

Yamato's smirking and I laugh. Only Ken seems to be concerned. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbles, carefully sliding out and sitting up. "What are you two doing here?"

"Just dropping by to say hello," I comment casually.

He stares at me.

"What?"

"I don't you people constantly checking up on me, you know," he says, irritable.

"I didn't say that—,"

"But that's what you were thinking. I _know_ you are…."

I sigh, "Taichi, come on, you quit your job and ended your—,"

"Are you trying to cheer me up?"

"I'm just saying that maybe you might want to deal with these changes in a different way."

He waves his wrench at his new toolbox. "I am."

Yamato gives me a pleading look. _Take him away._

So I offer, "How about coming out to lunch with us?"

"Us?" he repeats, already crawling back under the sink, much to Yamato's horror.

"Ken, Miyako, Hikari, and I."

They both crane their necks to stare at me. "Huh?" they ask.

"It's just for fun," I promise, looking at Ken for agreement. The man nods quickly. "It'd be great if you could come," Ken adds.

Yamato's suddenly looking uncomfortable, and I can't tell Taichi's expression from where he's lying.

"I don't know," Taichi mumbles, and I'm wondering if perhaps he hasn't fully forgiven Miyako for going berserk on him after she heard the news about him and Mimi (she'd cornered him on the street in the middle of daytime traffic and it seemed all of Tokyo stopped to stare).

"Just consider it at least," I say. I check my wristwatch. "The girls should be meeting us here any minute now."

Ken sighs.

Yamato looks at him. "What's wrong?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing. Just—with all this…wedding talk and everything…."

"You realize it's _your_ wedding talk, right?" Taichi asks dryly.

Yamato jabs at his foot with his crutch.

"Do that one more time and I will paralyze you," is the dark response.

"Oh, you really scare me."

"Just keeping you on your toes, you know—don't want to lose that creative musician mind on account of it being unused for so long."

"Okay, okay, that's enough," I mediate half-heartedly.

"So what's Miyako yapping about now?" Taichi asks.

(Yamato pokes him again, then narrowly avoids the wrench aimed at his knee.)

"Well…" Ken delays timidly, "it's just that Miyako's been…ever since her parents arrived to help with the last two weeks, she's been—things've been a little hectic and something—something came up about falling into an old routine like her parents have."

Taichi doesn't skip a beat, dropping his screwdriver on Yamato's toe and saying calmly over his yelps of pain, "Oh. I see. The 'lost spark' worries." I'm puzzled, but Ken nods, relieved Taichi understands. "Well, if that's all she's on about, just keep it—you know—_risqué_."

Ken's blank look reflects my own.

"Women like excitement in their lives," Taichi continues matter-of-factly. "They don't want the same-old, same-old, especially when it comes to romance. Be a little dangerous and she'll stop the worrying, no problem."

I have to roll my eyes, but Ken, on the other hand, seems to be drinking it all in.

"Dangerous?" he repeats skeptically.

"Unpredictable, spontaneous," Taichi adds, attempting to apply pliers to the problem with the pipes. "That's what women like. Once she's convinced of that, things won't get old."

When the pliers don't work, he bangs them on the pipes hard, repeatedly, before trying again, muttering about how they never seem to work. Yamato massages his temple, jaw twitching as it usually does just before he explodes in a violent temper.

I think it's best to change the subject, and there to save the day appears Hikari in the doorway, with Miyako at her elbow.

The bride-to-be plants a kiss on her fiancé's cheek, linking arms with him, while he himself ponders over Taichi's (lack of) wisdom and Yamato stares at everything but Hikari. I notice this exchange, or rather, the extremely conspicuous avoidance of exchange, but absolutely refuse to get in the middle of yet another awkward situation. Not that there is one _there_, I'm sure.

"Ready to go?" Hikari says finally, speaking to the engaged couple.

"Sure," Miyako answers for them both.

"Hey," Taichi pokes his head out a little to look at his sister, "what restaurant exactly did you choose?"

"Um…the Korean one opposite the movie theater, I think?" She looks at Miyako to confirm, and the woman nods her head. "Why? Do you want to come?"

"No," Taichi declines casually, slipping back under the sink, "and I don't think you want to go there either."

Hikari frowns at him. "What do you mean? We've been there before; we all liked it—,"

"Yeah, but don't go back."

"What happened?" Miyako asks, curious now.

"I'm just warning you not to go."

His sister narrows her eyes suspiciously. "Taichi, what's going on?"

"Look, just trust me. You don't want to go there. The manager's got a thing against…well, he doesn't really _like_ Mimi or me, and odds are he probably won't take too kindly to our friends or family or anyone remotely associated to either of us."

Silence reins while we stare at him, his face hidden under the sink while he continues to tinker with the pipes.

Then Yamato groans. "Oh, _God_…."

"What?" I ask, confused.

"For Christ's sake, Taichi—," the blond goes on, shaking his head.

His best friend swears when he bangs his elbow along the side of the wall. "It wasn't like we _planned_ it. It just sort of happened. You know how that goes."

Yamato grimaces.

"I'm still confused," I pipe in, but no one answers me.

"Me, too," Ken says, his forehead wrinkled in thought. He glances at Yamato, who shakes his head as if to say, _Don't ask_.

"What are you—?" Hikari demands, then stops suddenly, eyes huge. Her face turns red. "Oh, _Taichi_. Don't tell me."

"It is _not_ that big of a deal, all right?" he snaps, annoyed, reaching for the flashlight. "Some people are just _so_ particular about the _stupidest_ things…banning us and everyone we've ever spoken to just because we—,"

"Just because?" Yamato repeats. "_Taichi_!"

"Wait a minute," Miyako tries to interrupt, letting go of Ken's arm.

"Look, look," Hikari says, holding up her hands. "We'll just—we'll go eat somewhere else. There's a—a really great Italian restaurant next to Sora's studio—,"

Taichi coughs. "Um—,"

Hikari claps her hands over her ears.

"Wouldn't it be easier if you just gave us all a list of places that _were_ safe?" Yamato growls, irritated.

"What is going on?" I shout, frustrated.

Taichi slams his flashlight down on the floor. "Jyou! What do you _think_ we did to get us forever expelled from a perfectly reputable restaurant?"

"Well, how am I supposed to know?" I challenge, confused and angry. "It's a restaurant! What else could anyone possibly—oh," I stop. "_Oh_…." I grimace, shutting my eyes. "Good grief."

Miyako catches on only half a second later. She turns purple. "I—I can't believe—Mimi would never—,"

"Yeah, well, you'd be surprised about all the things 'Mimi would never do'…" Taichi grumbles, picking up a screwdriver as he returns his attentions to the kitchen sink.

Ken's mouth is hanging open, and I see him blink and mouth the word "_risqué_" very slowly.

Taichi's apparently totally ignorant of our revulsion as he continues, voice muffled a little, "But it was a long time ago; I'm sure the guys there are over it. They can't stay mad for all eternity just 'cause we got a little creative while we waited for tables—and none of it would've even happened if the service didn't take fucking forever—,"

"Stop, stop," Miyako cries. "Stop right there! No more!"

"Please don't use that word anymore," Yamato says.

He chuckles, "You dirty mind, you."

His best friend snaps, "At least we're not the ones who were blacklisted by every local area restaurant after being caught having—,"

"Can we please _stop_?" And to save her innocent ears from any more horrific revelations about her brother's apparently very unconventional sex life, Hikari practically dives out of the room with a distraught Miyako following close behind, leaving me in total mortification and Ken in shocked silence and Yamato in plain disgust.

Taichi just rolls his eyes when he sees the looks we're giving him.

"Like _you've _never wanted it to be exciting…."

"That's it," Yamato interrupts, stomping from the room (or, stomping as well as he can with crutches, which doesn't have anywhere near the same effect). He pauses at the doorway to yell back at me, "Get him out of here, Jyou, before he screws up everything else. And don't believe a word he says, Ken!"

Now that the group's lunch date has been cancelled, I manage to drag Taichi out of the apartment, telling him he could accompany me on my trip to the University of Tokyo that afternoon. The Board wants to review my application for transfer, and today is my meeting with them. He reluctantly agrees, glancing longingly at the kitchen sink, but I assure him the mess will most definitely still be there when we return, and boy, is Takeru in for a pleasant surprise. He decides to ignore the comment, but he does glare.

The taxi ride to the University is silent, and just when I think he's fallen asleep on me, we arrive.

I poke him. "Hey, wake up."

"Coming, coming," he yawns, dragging himself out of the taxi and sulkily following me.

We enter the University of Tokyo Hospital, and I ask the receptionist at the information desk for directions to the Board of Director's office. Taichi says nothing as he follows but when we sit down in the waiting room he stares at me suspiciously, eyes narrowed.

"Why aren't you nervous?"

"What?"

"Aren't you supposed to have fainted from anxiety by now?"

"Taichi—,"

"I mean, this is your _job_, Jyou. You could get it or lose it and then that's _it_."

"Tai—,"

"Aren't you scared?"

"Of course!" I run a nervous hand through my hair, chewing my lip. "That's why Hikari wanted to take me out to lunch, so I wouldn't get too tense…."

"Oh." Taichi slumps low in his chair. He mumbles, "Well, how come she never took me out when I lost my job?"

I roll my eyes.

"Because you didn't _lose_ it; you gave it _up_."

"Thanks for the reminder."

"You know, I'm proud of you for quitting."

He turns his face to stare up at me with widened brown eyes. "Really?"

"Sure," I shrug. "You can't tell me that job was helping you form any good habits. I think you made the right decision, letting go, starting over."

He looks away again. "Yeah…."

I hesitate a little, "Hey…you know, if you want to talk about—,"

"I'm fine," he interrupts shortly, annoyed.

I just shake my head.

"No. You're not."

He doesn't say anything, and neither do I. But just a few moments later, the Board's secretary calls me in for the meeting and he tells me good luck, lifting a lazy hand. I smirk, finding it easier to swallow the fear a little with Taichi around.

It's a regular conference room with a long, polished wooden table and large, leather swivel chairs. I'm shown to my seat at the end of the table, opposite from where the five other members of the Board are seated. I bow deeply, murmuring my gratitude, and then sit down, mentally running through my checklist of proper behavior as the meeting continues.

The man at the head of the table—who I recognize as Dr. Watanabe Kiyoshi, the executive director I'd been in contact with the most about this possible transfer—opens a manila folder containing what I assume must be my files and adjusts his glasses as he begins to speak.

"Well, thank you for coming on such short notice, Dr. Kido."

"It's no trouble at all, doctor," I reply, voice hoarse. I clear my throat, fingers clenched into fists in my lap. "Thank you for seeing me."

"Of course," another doctor answers warmly. "What, with your credentials, we were very eager to meet you."

I smile weakly. "Thank you."

"But the purpose of this meeting is to fully understand you and your career and your aspirations in relation to the University of Tokyo Hospital," yet another doctor adds. "Here at the University, we value expert-level skill, treatment, procedures—only the very best of the very best, of which I'm sure you're aware. That said, we are interested in all aspects of the applicants we receive to join our staff; that is, their educational background, their experience in the medical world, in addition to ethics and personal values."

"You come highly recommended, Dr. Kido, by several well-respected practitioners. That is a good sign. And now it is our turn to ask the questions."

I nod. "Yes, of course."

"Do you always do humanitarian work?"

I blink, totally caught off guard. "What?"

A physician gestures to the files. "Your records show several instances of medical volunteer work, often for months at a time in your beginning years."

"Oh." I hesitate, "Well, yes, I do. I take that very seriously. That is the purpose of medicine, though, isn't it? To provide care to anyone who's in need."

"True," a doctor nods. "But it says here that you took time out of your residency for this. Is it possible that by devoting so much time to your humanitarian work, you lost valuable time in obtaining your license and graduating medical school?"

"Uh, yes, I—I suppose that's true. But I did it for personal reasons. It's something I wanted to do. It didn't matter to me at the time what it did to my residency."

"And yet that is probably why you are where you are in your career right now, yes, instead of perhaps starting at a hospital like the University of Tokyo's instead of the clinic you are in now."

"The clinic I work for is a very prestigious institution—,"

"Of course, it is," Dr. Watanabe dismisses easily. "And we wholeheartedly agree. We are simply curious as to why you would deliberately choose to prolong the residency with volunteer work rather than actually try and improve your career from the beginning. You have some great potential, Dr. Kido, and your records show some sine medical school achievement. Yet it's puzzling to us why you never saw the need to become any better, in the proper way."

I choose my words carefully.

"Doctors, please understand. What makes me want to become a better doctor is not the credentials and awards and honors it brings me as a practicing physician, but the fact that my title and position in society makes me accountable for doing what I feel must be done to respond to situations honestly and responsibly. And if that means that I must sometimes give up chances to 'improve my career' or wait a little longer than my colleagues, than I'm wiling to pay that price. If for the sake of medicine, then yes, I will do what I feel is right."

Dr. Watanabe smiles broadly.

"That is very reassuring to hear, Dr. Kido."

I bow my head, pleased. "Thank you, doctor."

"Good." He closes the folder and looks me straight in the eye. "Then you'll understand that we will not be able to accept your application for transfer."

I stop.

"What?" I say softly, forgetting all etiquette.

He fingers the files. "We have very high standards at this hospital. And we have very specific ideals. Only the most compatible of doctors work best with our system here at the University, you understand. While yours are commendable and just, we fear they might interfere with the state of mind our doctors generally entertain. Medicine, Dr. Kido, is a science to us. It is an artful science. And a gift for only the very best. But like any job site, our workers follow a common policy and mentality that must be present for full cooperation. Even within this world, there are separations, wouldn't you agree?"

When I don't answer, he rises from his chair and the other doctors follow suit. "Nevertheless, we hope you continue your efforts. You are most certainly a vital asset to the practicing medical world. And for that, we thank you."

Not knowing what else to do, I stand and bow low.

"I understand. Thank you for…your time, doctors."

"Thank you, Dr. Kido."

Feeling like a stranger's taken over my body and I'm blindly floating along against any sort of will, I walk out of the room and past the secretary, straight into the waiting room. Taichi, still lounging in his chair, suddenly sits up straight when he sees me.

"Well?" he prods, anxious.

I mutter, "I didn't get it."

He stares.

"What?" he demands, appalled.

"I…didn't get the job."

His jaw drops open. Then he's scrambling out of the chair, flustered. "I can't believe—who the hell do they think they _are_—?"

"Taichi—,"

"Or do they not realize who the hell _you_ are?"

"Tai—,"

"Just wait until _I_ talk to them—," he resolves determinedly, marching to the doors.

I grab him by the back of his shirt, dragging him to the door.

"Leave it, Tai."

"But—,"

"It was a possibility that didn't come through. It's all right."

I'm getting pretty damn good at this lying thing, but I'm way to numb to it all to notice just yet. I'm still walking around in a daze, and Taichi recognizes the lost look on my face. He frowns, concerned.

"You know," he says as we leave the hospital, "if they can't see what they're losing, they don't deserve you."

And at that pitiful attempt to make me feel better, I have to smile.

I sigh, shoving my fists into the pockets of my suit jacket. "You're in business; you know the concept. If you aren't compatible with the company, it won't work. And…our views of medicine were just too different."

He's puzzled.

"It's _medicine_. How many views can there be about _that_?"

I shake my head. "It's okay. I'm fine. I'm…realizing a lot of things right now because of this."

He studies me closely as I hail a cab.

"I think you're still in shock."

He's right, but I just laugh it off, vaguely surprised by how well I'm taking this. Of course, this could just be that same shock, and by the time it wears off, I will most definitely be devastated.

But why? For what? For not getting _one_ transfer?

I mean, it's not like my job at my hospital is any less rewarding, if you really think about it.

Sure, the University's got a great reputation and I'd be making more money, but I actually _do_ believe all the things I was saying to the Board at the meeting. It's not just about becoming a better doctor. It's about being a better healer, a better person. Take my tendency to always get in the middle of my friends' situations; I can't help but want to help. I need to get involved, to help out. I enjoy it. _That's_ what it's about.

Okay, that's enough pep talk—time to be miserable and mope for a good day or two. I'm human, I lost a great chance, I can be sad. Then I can wake up and have another great one come along if I just keep trying.

Since it's already near dinner time, Taichi talks me into getting something to eat to help start the healing process, and I give in with absolutely no protest. While he's up at the counter of the small, cozy café ordering for us, I grab a table near the window and sulk in the chair.

My cell phone rings.

"Hello?" I answer dully.

"Uh oh," a soft voice winces on the other line.

"Hey, Mimi."

"I'm guessing it didn't go so well."

"I didn't get it."

"Oh, Jyou," she sighs. "I'm so sorry."

I finger the tablecloth absentmindedly. "Eh, don't worry. It's only going up from here, right?"

I can almost hear her smiling into the phone.

"Listen, you want to get some dinner? You know, to help start the healing process?"

I start, eyes wide. Sitting up, I glance at Taichi, who's heading back to our table carrying a plate of a huge slice of chocolate mousse pie and two cups of coffee. For people so different, sometimes they are just way too much alike.

"Uh, actually, I'm already eating with Taichi. He came with me."

"Oh."

I chew on the inside of my mouth, thinking. "Listen, you can come if you want. We're still on coffee now. We can meet up at a proper restaurant, and maybe—,"

"No, no, it's fine. I didn't realize it was your boys-night-out time," she chuckles lightly, voice strained a little but she hides it well. "You have fun. We'll catch up some other day, okay?"

"Who is it?" Taichi asks, carefully placing the cake and drinks on the table.

I don't answer, telling her, "It's really okay. I want you here, if you want to be here."

"You're sweet." She adds quietly, "But I'm done with that, Jyou. Don't bring it back."

I sigh.

"Okay."

"I'll talk to you later, then."

"Sure," and I say my goodbyes.

Taichi's dumping about a billion tons of sugar into his coffee when I hang up, and he smirks at me. "So who was it?"

"Mimi."

I just barely catch the small hesitation in his motions, but he recovers instantly. Without blinking, he rips open another sugar packet and stirs it in.

"Huh."

"Yep."

"Yeah."

"Well."

"Okay."

"Uh-huh."

"This is getting stupid."

"Hey, you started it."


	15. Chapter 15: Yamato

**Done That**

Women, fame, and money. Things normal guys would enjoy. But Taichi, Takeru, Jyou and Yamato, four frustrated, desperate, clueless, and indecisive young men, are just about ready to throw in the chips. AU Sequel to 'Been There.'

**Disclaimer**: I don't own.

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"So remind me why I'm helping you again?"

Sora frowns, slapping a pair of scissors in my hand. "Just do it, blondie."

Grumbling, I move my broken leg into a more comfortable position, then pick up the printed photo stills on the table. I'm fairly impressed.

"Hey, these are pretty good," I note, flipping through the stack.

"I know. Hikari took them."

"I was talking about your designs," I mutter.

She smiles sweetly.

"Of course you were."

_Ugh_. How the hell do I get myself into these things? It's like we're playing the _What's the Quickest Way to Kill Yamato? _game….

It was worse enough sitting around in Takeru's apartment with her and our two lovebird friends when Taichi and Jyou left for the University. And then, when we realized we'd have to go out to eat anyway since Taichi had so cleverly "fixed" everything normally used to make meals, I didn't have an excuse to stay.

Thankfully, we ran into Sora on the way. She was planning on eating in her apartment to work on her designs before shipping them off to a new company she'd been dealing with lately. I volunteered to help.

And that's where I am now.

Leave it to Sora to actually make me do work.

"So…," she begins vaguely, and I roll my eyes.

"Don't, Sora."

"You just can't leave it at that—,"

"I'm not leaving it at anything. Things have just been…a little complicated lately. But as soon as it settles down I'll talk to Taichi."

"You're stalling."

"Of course I'm stalling."

"Yamato—,"

"Sora—,"

"_Yamato_."

"_Sora_."

"Yamato!"

"Sora!" Mimi stumbles out of her old bedroom, where she's now staying until the wedding. "I'm borrowing your red heels, okay?"

Sora blinks, confused, and I'm staring at Mimi, who's absolutely stunning in a short, wine red dress, her cinnamon hair curled and pulled up in an elegantly styled bun. She stops at the kitchen counter, leaning against it with one hand while she slips her shoes on with the other.

I open my mouth as though to say something, but nothing comes out.

Sora, on the other hand, doesn't say anything as she returns to her photo stills, cropping them with her scissors.

"Try not to be late to dinner this time."

Mimi barely glances at her, fastening a sterling watch around her wrist.

"You'll hardly even know I'm gone," she smiles instead.

That's when she notices me staring open-mouthed at her.

She looks down at herself. "What, is something wrong?"

"_No_," I protest, earning myself a dirty look from Sora. I cough. "I mean—,"

"Oh, sorry, I've got to run. Tell Miyako we're still on for tomorrow's meeting with the caterer, will you?"

I blink. "Ah, sure…."

"Great! See you two later!"

I stare at the door, dumbfounded, for a full five minutes after she's gone before I recover the ability to panic. "Sora! What the hell is she doing? Why the hell are you letting her?"

Sora sighs, shaking her head.

"She's miserable, Yamato."

"_That's_ her miserable?"

"Yes, it is."

"I am not entirely stupid, you know."

"But unfortunately, our best friends are," she grumbles. "Mimi's just—well, if it weren't for this wedding to keep her busy, she'd be falling apart."

I'm skeptical. "She looked pretty together to me right then…."

"It's all an act," Sora dismisses easily, gathering her finished photo samples into a pile to be packaged and mailed. "Just like the one Taichi's pulling. God, it's so frustrating…."

"Well, has she talked to you, mentioned anything yet? 'Cause I can't get anything out of him."

"All I can figure out is that she wanted a break from them so she could find out what she really wants individually. Or something equally dumb."

My eyebrows knit thoughtfully, I disagree. "It's not dumb."

She turns around to stare at me. "What?"

"It's not dumb to need some time to yourself, Sora. And it's better to deal with problems like that first before they get out of hand."

"So you're saying you think this is good for them?"

I shrug, looking away.

"I'm saying that if they can't give themselves fully to a relationship, then they need to discover that now before ignoring any doubts or worries and risk going through a more painful situation in the future."

She studies me closely.

"They're supposed to be together."

I don't say anything.

She repeats earnestly, "They are, Yamato. Everyone knows that. They have to be together. It's one of those things that nobody argues and nobody challenges because it's right and natural and meant to happen." She pauses there as if to dare me to say something, but I don't and she continues. "After everything they've been through, to have made it this far despite all the odds—_that_ should proof enough that they are supposed to be together and that it would just be wrong for them to take what they had and throw it all away. It's _wrong_."

"It's a choice," I interrupt quietly.

"Well, it's the _wrong_ one. Why can't they see that?" She purses her lips, muttering under her breath moodily. "You know, if everyone just let me make their choice for them, we'd all be totally happy."

I'm scared.

"You like being a control freak, don't you?"

"_Yamato_."

"_Sora_."

"I am _not_ playing that stupid game with you again," she bites back.

I laugh. "Look, we all care about Taichi and Mimi. We're all friends, aren't we? But we can't live their lives for them, no matter what we think about the things they do. We can only be there for them no matter the choices they make. And right now, they need to us to be there the most. Just be there, Sora."

She exhale slowly, tiredly, her shoulders sinking in fatigued defeat as she slumps on a chair.

"I hate seeing her hurting like this, Yamato. She's my best friend."

I smile sympathetically. "I know."

"I wish she'd talk to me about it at least," she says after a long moment. "But she just changes the subject if anyone even seems like they're going to mention Taichi's name."

I pick up a photo still and begin cropping.

"At least you don't have to deal with his 'fix-it-all' phase. I'm going to have to hire a handyman to repair all the damage The Idiot's done before my brother gets back from France or Takeru's going to have my head on a stick—after he kills Taichi for the life insurance and uses that to pay for the remodeling."

Sora smirks. "When is he coming back? Miyako's been bothering Hikari about that for ages, but she's just as clueless about it all as I am. It was so sudden, wasn't it?"

I hide my face behind the photo prints and try to concentrate.

"I haven't talked to him. I wouldn't know when he's coming back."

"Really?" She looks at me in surprise.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're even more overprotective than Taichi is."

"So you think I have a chance with Hikari?"

She laughs, "You really think too little of Taichi sometimes. I'll bet you anything he'll be fine with it."

"I can't believe you're willing to bet money when my life's on the line."

"A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do."

The door opens again and Mimi pokes her head through. She grins. "Forgot my wallet." And then she slips past us and into her room.

Sora rolls her eyes. "She's gotten even more spacey since their break, too."

I put the photos and scissors down, reaching for my crutches. "I think I'll talk to her."

"You're just trying to avoid being in the living room when Hikari comes back anytime now."

"Remind me to tell Takeru you were the one who gave Taichi the idea to renovate his apartment."

She sticks out her tongue at me and I smirk at her before knocking gently on Mimi's open door to announce my arrival. Mimi looks up from the dresser, all the drawers pulled open as she searches for her missing wallet. She flashes me a quick smile.

"Hi, Yamato. How's your leg feeling?"

"Numb," I answer truthfully.

"Oh, really? How nice…" and she trails off, pulling clothes out of the dresser and throwing them anywhere they land as she engrosses herself in the search and rescue mission.

I stare at her as she zips around the room, rummaging through her suitcases, then the closet, and finally dropping to her knees to peer under the bed.

"Dammit, where is it?" she murmurs, sweeping her gaze around the room.

"Um, Mimi—?" I start to ask, but she snaps her head and interrupts, "The laundry hamper! I probably left it in my jeans or some other pocket again. I don't know what's gotten into me lately; I'm forgetting the silliest things, all the time."

She moves to the closet again and this time checks the pockets of every pant she pulls out of the hamper, dropping each one on the floor every time she comes up empty handed. Her frustration grows with every passing minute, until she finally flings the last jeans pant down violently and suddenly kicks the closet door, the heel of Sora's red shoes snapping at once.

I let go of my crutches, limping over to her, arms outstretched. But she staggers out of my reach, shaking her head, her hair quickly falling out of its neat bun and spilling over her face and shoulders.

"I'm fine," she insists, breathing hard, picking up the broken heel and shaking off the shoe. "God, this is so _stupid_!"

"Mimi—,"

"This is all—everything is just—I am so _stupid_!"

I manage to grasp her wrist. "Mi—,"

"I said I was _fine_!" And to prove it, she smacks me in the face with her shoe.

Seeing stars, I instinctively let go and clamp a hand over my paining nose, dazed. I'm staggering, trying to sort out my bearings, when Sora comes flying in through the door and sees Mimi attempting to rain down cosmetics, clothes, and whatever else she can find on top of me. Sora dives right into the situation without a second thought, and soon after her follows Hikari, who appears at the doorway just arrived home from her outing with Ken and Miyako.

Glancing at me briefly, Hikari drops her purse in the doorway and rushes to Sora's aid. Both women manage to pin Mimi down in a tight bear hug, finally calming her down. I'm still rubbing my sore nose when Mimi gives in, sniffling, sitting on the edge of the bed with one friend on either side of her.

"I'm going crazy, aren't I?" Mimi asks between sniffs, rubbing at her wet eyes. She looks at me expectantly and I shake my head.

"Maybe just a little," Sora can't help but add.

Mimi sighs and Hikari rubs her back comfortingly.

"I still love him," Mimi whispers fearfully after a long moment. "I always will. I just don't understand why that's not enough anymore. I can't explain how restless I feel. I can't…I can't let that go. It's like I'm stuck in the middle of a tug-of-war that won't give in, and whichever side wins, I'll still lose."

"You know, I'm guessing it's a safe bet that he's just as confused as you are," Sora says.

"I'm confused with him, without him, about him. I can't even think straight anymore," she groans and drops her face into her hands, shaking her head.

"He's miserable, Mimi," I interrupt.

She glances at me.

I smile kindly. "He won't show it because he's just as stubborn as you. But he is. He's not even thinking straight anymore, either. You know, he quit his job."

Her jaw drops open. "_What_?"

"It's true," Hikari muses. "He called me right after he quit. Well, from Ken's home phone, because he apparently threw out his cell phone…."

"But…but _why_?" Mimi gasps, a hand over her mouth. "He _loves_ his job."

"No, he loves you. And love makes people do stupid things," I add.

"So, for the love of God, will you two do something stupid together and at least sort this out, face-to-face?" Sora begs. "I'll understand that you need time to sort this problem out yourself, and that you both've decided to figure out what it is you truly want, but you could at least learn to work together at it. You could at least talk. _Try_, just once more."

"It's not that simple," Mimi mutters.

Sora frowns, clearly unwilling to mask her great displeasure. "Mimi, what are you afraid of?"

Mimi blinks surprised. "I don't understand."

"What are you so afraid of?" Sora repeats.

Her best friend stares at her blankly.

"Why are you so scared?"

Mimi opens her mouth, then stops, breathing hard.

"Are you afraid of him, of Taichi? Of something that might happen? Of—,"

"Me," she whispers, trembling. "Us. I'm afraid of…all of this."

Sora's eyes widen in astonishment.

"Mimi—,"

Recognizing this as an intimate, for-friends'-ears-only kind of moment, I decide to leave them alone then, picking up my crutches and exiting the room as stealthily as a handicapped man can. I hear footsteps behind me as I head to the door, and when I turn Hikari's standing there, holding out the jacket I would have forgotten.

"Oh, thanks," I stammer lamely.

She smiles. Without a word, she moves to return to the other two in the bedroom, but I call to her, realizing something and feeling impressively stupid for not putting the pieces together earlier.

"You're scared, too, aren't you?" I ask her when she turns back around at my call.

She stops, brown eyes wide.

"Of us," I add carefully.

She speaks slowly, "Of course, I am."

"Hikari," I tell her honestly, "so am I. But it's not enough to make me stop."

She stares, millions of thoughts racing through her mind probably, the way millions are running through mine right now, too. I move to face her properly, leaning heavily on my crutches.

When she finally does speak, it's in a rush, as though she'd been thinking about these for a long time, but never aloud, never admitting they might be real. "It's just—it's sudden and inexplicable and strange and new and I—," and then she stops.

I lean forward. "You, what?"

"I don't understand it," she admits.

"Neither do I," I say. "But don't you think we owe it to ourselves to at least…figure it out? Find out if there really is anything worth discovering, worth understanding?"

She shrugs helplessly. "I don't know."

I take a deep breath.

"Look. I'm not sorry for kissing you, for thinking I'm feeling something for you. And whenever you decide you aren't sorry, either, I'm going to be right here waiting, Hikari. Right here. I can't tell you how it's going to end, what's going to happen. I don't know what it will mean. I can't promise you it will be easy and wonderful; no relationship is. But they are beautiful. And they are real. And so is this. It's _real_, Kari. No matter what we decide to make of it or how it ends or if it even starts—it's real. And that's enough for me."

She doesn't say anything, her cheeks flushed a light pink.

I finally glance away, realizing too late how ridiculously cheesy that speech must have sounded and deciding that from then on I'm keeping romantic outbursts to myself. This one's going to get me in enough of a mess as it is….

Excusing myself, I take a cab back to Takeru's apartment building, sulking all the way, mulling over everything that's been crashing down all around me lately. I'm so engrossed in it all that I don't see the person in front of me as I push through the doors to the building. I knock into the person roughly, and I apologize half-heartedly, distracted.

Until I realize who it is.

"Koushiro?"

The redhead jumps, startled, and whirls around. His eyes go huge. "Yamato! Wh-what are you doing here?"

"I…live here?"

"_Right_!" He snaps his fingers, grinning lopsidedly.

I frown at him, suspicious at once.

"What are _you_ doing here?" I demand.

"Well—,"

"Thanks for the help, Koushiro. That should be the last…suitcase…" and the voice trails off uncertainly.

I stiffen.

"Hey, Yamato," Takeru greets softly, awkwardly.

I know it's only been a few weeks, but it's still sort of surprising to me that he hasn't changed at all. Perhaps after what happened, I'd expected something about him to change, because something about the way I perceived him changed. But nothing has. He's still Takeru.

I don't say anything in response, just staring at him.

He shifts his feet uncomfortably.

"Sorry about not calling," he says after a moment. "I figured you'd be busy. So I called Koushiro."

Koushiro nods a little too enthusiastically, warily eyeing the brothers before him. I don't know how much he knows, but he's smart enough to figure out something's off between us, and he's treading lightly.

Takeru leans down a picks up the last suitcase, a Pullman, and nods towards the elevator. "It's finally working again," he observes with a light smile. When I still don't respond, still don't smile back, he bites his lip and stops trying, walking away.

Once he's out of earshot, Koushiro prods my elbow.

"Help him," the redhead says, motioning to the pile of suitcases by Takeru's feet as my brother attempts to load the elevator and hold the doors open at the same time.

"How?" I hiss back, gesturing to my crutches.

Koushiro frowns disapprovingly, then stalks by me to help Takeru himself. I make my way towards them, reluctantly using a crutch to hold the door open.

"Thanks," Takeru murmurs once we all settle inside the compartment.

The ride up to our floor is silent. I glance at him through the corner of my eye and find him staring up at the numbers on the top of the elevator door, following the lighted path indicating our snail-like progress (apparently the technician fixed it to ride very, very slowly; he and Taichi would make nice friends).

I can't understand why I'm so shocked about it—he really hasn't changed as far as I can tell now. I almost expected him to be a completely different person now. But he's not. He's made mistakes and he's broken and he's probably lost and confused about it all, too, but he's still Takeru. And he's still…he still needs me, right? I mean, looking at him now, seeing the look on his face when he saw me again—he was happy to see me. Hopeful, at least.

And I wonder if that's all he's looking for, all he needed right then.

_We're all friends, aren't we? But we can't live their lives for them, no matter what we think about the things they do. We can only be there for them no matter the choices they make._

And blood is thicker than water, as they say.

"Why'd you come back?" I ask, breaking the silence. He looks at me curiously, as though surprised I'd ask. But I want to know. "Why did you?"

He meets my gaze, blue mirroring blue.

"I realized what I was leaving. And I realized leaving wasn't me. That wasn't me, this isn't me." He smiles. "I'm going to be better than that."

The doors open and we arrive at the floor. Again, I hold the elevator open with my crutches as Koushiro and Takeru pull suitcases into the hall. Takeru takes out his key, about to unlock the door and finally come home, after being gone both physically and emotionally for much too long, finally coming back to me, as the kid brother who at the very least deserves to have a big brother around no matter the actions or the consequences.

"Hey, Takeru," I call suddenly, taking a chance.

He stops, glancing back at me. "Yeah?"

I hesitate, then smile weakly.

"I'm not leaving, either. And…well…I just—," I trail off, uncertain. There is more I want to say, but I can't figure out how to tell him.

But somehow he understands. His voice is soft, "Thanks, Yamato."

An awkward silence follows, and then I straighten, stepping back towards the elevator, clearing my throat. "Yeah, well, we're actually supposed to meet Iori for something—,"

Koushiro glances at me, confused, not following my sudden and unexpected words at all.

Takeru doesn't think of it at all. "Okay," he nods, already opening the door.

"We'll help you get settled in when we get back."

Koushiro mouths "_we_?" to me, but again, Takeru doesn't notice. "Sure."

I wait until he's dragging his suitcases back into the apartment, distracted, and disappears into the flat. Out of sight, I immediately turn and hiss at Koushiro, "_Run_."

"What—?"

I shove him. "Damn it, Izumi, _move_!"

Confused, Koushiro strides hurriedly to the elevator and I punch the button to the lobby. He stares at me, eyebrow arched, but I just shake my head, gritting my teeth, tense.

And then, just seconds before the doors of the elevator close to protect us, Takeru screams bloody murder.

"_My apartment_!"


	16. Chapter 16: Taichi

**Done That**

Women, fame, and money. Things normal guys would enjoy. But Taichi, Takeru, Jyou and Yamato, four frustrated, desperate, clueless, and indecisive young men, are just about ready to throw in the chips. AU Sequel to 'Been There.'

**Disclaimer**: I don't own.

**Author's Note**: Hey, so when I said I was toning down on the drama, I lied. But it's for the sake of the ending I'm planning, so bear with me please.

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_Why am I here? Why, why, why, _why?

I take a deep breath.

_All right. _

_You can do this, Yagami. Just ring the doorbell. Say what you came to say. Finish it all up and get the hell out._

I shut my eyes briefly, whispering a prayer for luck, and then confidently ring the doorbell.

_Don't answer—don't answer—don't answer—don't—_

"Taichi!" my mother cries, throwing her arms around me. "You came! Hikari mentioned you might drop by and you actually did! Oh, this is just wonderful!"

"Uh, happy anniversary, Mom," I stammer, and she squeals, pinching my cheek.

"Aren't you just a perfect little darling? Come in, come in, your father's in the living room. I'll make tea."

_Tea. Okay. Tea is okay._

"Susumu!" my mother barks. "Guess who came to give us his wishes!"

"Is it the mailman? Because I have a couple of letters that he mistakenly gave us and—,"

"Hi, Dad," I interrupt, waving awkwardly. "Happy anniversary."

He stares at me.

"I thought you were in London."

I wince.

_Be calm, be calm…._

"Well, actually…I'm moving back. Here. To Tokyo."

"They relocated you again?" my mother asks, sincerely interested as she brings the teapot and cups to the living room table.

I fidget, avoiding eye contact.

"Er, no."

"Then what happened."

I spit it out: "Ikindasortamighthavequitmyjob."

Silence.

I've learned to hate silence.

Then my mother smiles brightly. "I'm sorry. I thought I heard you tell us you had just ruined your life. What did you say, dear?"

"I said…can I stay for dinner?"

My father frowns, lifting the newspaper to hide behind it.

"Well, if he's willing to eat your cooking, Yuuko, then I'm betting he's serious."

Her face just melts.

"Oh, Taichi!"

"It's okay, Mom," I reassure quickly. "It's all going to be okay. I'm moving back. I went out apartment-hunting today, in fact, and I found a few that look promising. Koushiro's already calling around to see who's hiring around here. And I've got enough to go with so that if it takes longer than projected, I'll still be fine."

But it's too late. My mother's fully launched in panic mode and there's no getting her out now.

"But—but you were so settled in London and I had made all these plans to visit already and I—and what on Earth did Mimi say?"

I glance away, jaw clenched tight.

"Mimi and I broke up."

Silence.

I really, _really_ hate silence.

My mother gets up, stomps to the kitchen, grabs her purse, and slams the door as she exits the apartment in a great big huff.

I stare after her, appalled. Good grief, she took it worse than _I_ did.

"Uh—did I miss something?" I ask my father, who still hasn't come out from behind his newspaper.

"You know how fond she is of Mimi."

"Well, yeah, but—,"

"And I thought you two were on a break, not completely over." I blink at him, stunned. "At least, that's what Hikari told us earlier. Your mother decided she was lying, but then you come here and totally destroy all her hopes for your future, so she's just a little upset and overwhelmed by all this sudden, unexpected excitement. But if she comes back with groceries, you are a dead man, son, no matter how much I love you."

He returns to his paper.

I can't stop staring

"Well?" I prod.

"Well, what?" he asks airily.

I frown. "Aren't you going to ask me what happened?"

"No."

"Dad, do you even care?"

"I make it a point not to care about anything until I've finished reading the paper. It's nothing personal."

I roll my eyes, sighing, collapsing into the sofa.

"I just wanted to make her happy," I mumble after a long moment, needing to say something.

He hesitates, glancing over the top of the newspaper at me. "Pardon?"

I shake my head.

"Make her happy. That was all I wanted, all I want. And now everything I've been so scared of is coming true—I _didn't_ make her happy. I couldn't. I let her down, Dad. I don't know what I did, how it happened, but it's over now. I couldn't make it work," I whisper finally.

He's silent, staring at me.

I bury my face in my hands, not saying another word.

Then he begins slowly, "Well, did you romance her at all?"

My head snaps up in total bewilderment. That wasn't the reaction I'd expected.

"What?"

He glares at me over the top of his newspaper.

"Romance, Tai. Ring a bell?"

I make a face at him, sitting down at the table with him for my own personal safety.

"I know what it _means_. And I'll have you know that I happen to be quite accomplished in—,"

"Watch the ego, kid."

"Don't call me kid, Dad."

"Look, kid," he ignores me like he always does, "you can't expect to keep a woman happy if you don't know how to make love to her."

I shift uncomfortably, stalling by making myself a cup of tea and wishing my mother would hurry up and come home. See? _This_ is why I dread having to talk to my father alone for longer than a minute. He's just so…_why the _hell_ am I discussing my love life with my dad?_ And then the voice in the back of my head suggests, _Well, it's better than having to discuss that with Mom._

_Oh my _God_. Somebody _shoot_ me._

I start drinking my tea really, really fast. "Haven't we already had this conversation?"

He throws me a look and I sigh, trapped, setting the teacup back down on the table.

I mumble, slurring words and hiding my face behind my hand. "I know how to make love to a woman."

He stares at me blankly.

"You realize that by _make love_, I do not mean _have_ _sex_, right?"

"Dad!"

"Oh, don't give me that 'you're-my-father-and-my-sex-life-becomes-officially-nonexistant-when-I'm-talking-with-you' crap. I've known what you were up to since you started swiping money from my wallet to buy condoms in secondary school."

"You knew?" I cry, horrified.

He rolls his eyes. "_I_ know _everything_." Then he smirks, shuffling his paper. "But don't worry, kid. I haven't told your mother. Yet."

My jaw drops.

"You wouldn't dare—,"

"Don't try me, kid."

He's _evil_. The man is just, plain _evil_. God, why _me_?

"Besides," he says suddenly, and I realize he'd been rambling with me tuning him out on instinct. Guilty, I start to listen, "you know it's impossible to please everyone, and you so you can't keep one person happy all the time. That's not even what relationship's about. It's not your job as a lover to make the one you love happy all the time. It's your job to be there through _all_ the times. Just think back on the times you had with her, kid. There were the good and the bad, but _all_ of it was your relationship. Not just the good times. All of it."

I'm quiet, thinking. I pick up my teacup and take another sip, handling it absentmindedly.

Then I smirk, chuckling to myself as I remember.

"What?" my father asks, seeing the smile on my face.

I shake my head. "You're right. Good times, bad times. Everything was…it was all _ours_." I laugh again. "There was that one time in London when we didn't speak to each other for a whole week and resorted to talking on post-it notes until the entire flat was littered with those stupid yellow paper strips…but then there was that one other time when I couldn't give that presentation at work the day after my birthday because I was still unbelievably sore from an absolutely _fantastic_ night of—,"

"You can stop," my father interrupts, making a face.

But I don't. I'm lost, remembering all those times.

Like the time she tripped a nurse when I was in the hospital for twisting my knee in a college football match, resulting in the nurse threatening to sue the team after the she broke her ankle and couldn't work, and when my coach asked her what had gotten into her head, she claimed the nurse had looked at me the wrong way.

Or the time we were bored out of our freakin' minds at the twenty-first birthday ultra-formal dinner her parents had thrown her against her wishes and she faked menstrual cramps so we could both sneak out and spend the night inconspicuously flicking popcorn at snuggling couples in the local movie theater.

Or the time she found me sulking dejectedly at a cheap sushi bar after I'd lost a crucial match, so she tried to cheer me up by smearing wasabi on one side of her face and painting red lipstick on the other side, then reenacting the fight between Spiderman and the Green Goblin until I was in tears on the floor laughing.

Or the time she came with me, my business professor, and his wife on a camping trip so I could somehow win a recommendation to graduate school, a trip that ended with me realizing I might be falling for a girl who had us all running like hell when she woke up to a tarantula on her pillow and got us subsequently lost for two days.

Or the time I ate too many cheese puffs at an event at her newly opened café and spent the entire night in indigestion hell, but only after getting my ass kicked by a food critic who'd given her restaurant poor reviews after he had the gall to show up at the event and I picked a very ill-conceived fight with him.

Or the time she'd dragged me kicking and screaming to the mall while she tried on every dress in every store, then got into a catfight with the bitchy saleswoman in one of those shops, and when I had to restrain her by holding her tightly in my arms I never wanted to let go.

Or the time that crazy teacher at her pregnancy class gave us the peanut to represent our child, and when she put it in my hand and while we sat there together, life between our fingers, I knew there was nothing else I wanted to do but make love to her a thousand times and then start all over again.

After a long moment, he speaks suddenly, jarring me from my daydreams. His voice is soft and quiet and serious. "She didn't want to hurt you, you know."

I nod vaguely, still distracted by memories of how it used to be. "I know. I know all about that; she told me everything. But then she also said she wanted a break from me."

"No, Taichi, she wanted a break from her, from the person she'd become while safe and sheltered in a predictable lifestyle that she just felt wasn't what it used to be, what it could be."

I stare at him.

"Dad…," I begin suspiciously, slowly. "How do you know all this?"

He turns the page.

"Ikindasortamighthavetalkedtoheraboutgoingonthatbreak."

I'm too shocked to even breathe. I just sit there, numb, confused, blank. _This cannot be happening_.

"_What_?"

My father sighs. "Taichi, she came to me for my honest opinion. What would you have had me do?"

I gape. "How about _not_ answer?"

"Tai—,"

"So _you_ were the one who put all those ideas into her head?" I cry, scrambling to my feet. "I can't _believe_ this! How could you _do_ that to me?"

"She needed someone to talk to!" he defends, throwing down his stupid paper finally and standing to face me.

"Then she should have come to me!"

"Well, she couldn't, Tai, because of exactly the way you're acting now!" he shouts, frustrated.

I shake my head. "_What_?"

"Taichi," he explains after a moment, trying to remain stern and calm, "I know what it means to be in a committed relationship and I know all the pressures and the responsibilities and the sacrifices it takes. Okay? I know, I understand. And when she asked for my opinion about those same pressures and issues, I told her the truth because I care about the both of you and I want what's best for you."

I shut my eyes.

"So what's best for me is not being the one woman I actually—?"

"I know you love her, Tai. I know she loves you. I don't even have to have you tell me; when someone who's been in love sees someone else in love, they recognize it. But, Taichi, listen to me, that kind of love takes an ultimate kind of sacrifice for it to last. And before you two decide to go that far, you have to seriously decide if it's worth it. If it will be worth what you'll lose, what you'll never get back."

He lowers his voice. "And that's what she's trying to do, Tai, all right? She's not saying she doesn't want to be with you or that she's stopped loving you. She's just scared about what she _does_ want, because what she wants is _you_ and that's never happened to her before. And she needs time to herself to see if she's willing to take it that far."

He pauses. "That's _all_ I told her, Taichi. I told her to be honest, to not hold anything back, to not keep anything inside just to have a happy relationship on the surface and deal with fears like that underneath. But she can't deal with them with you right now, because if she's still with you while she's trying to figure this and herself out, you'll just make it that much harder on her. Both of you need to step back—no matter how much it hurts and for long it takes—and see what might have been, what could be, through unbiased eyes."

My voice is hoarse and I don't know how to keep from shaking. "You don't understand, Dad."

"No, I don't," he agrees. "But I've gone through something similar like that before. I know enough."

I sigh. "So you think it's possible to be in love with someone but know you can't be with them?"

"I think it's possible to be in love with someone and make an adult, mutual decision to respect that love before you hurt that someone."

"Even if that means giving up the best thing that's ever going to happen to you?"

"Taichi," he smiles at me, "no matter what happens or what the two of you decide to do, what you had until now will always exist and will always be something to treasure, something to cherish and celebrate. You don't have to give up those memories. You don't have to punish yourself that way. But you have to move on."

But I didn't want to move on.

I didn't want to deal with this.

I wanted to be selfish and angry and stubborn.

But I wasn't. I couldn't. I felt nothing but absolute loneliness knowing that she was out there somewhere, dealing with problems I knew I couldn't help her with, all alone, and I had no choice but wait for her.

But what am I waiting for?

That's what I don't understand.

_What am I waiting for?_

I stumble back, not know what to do but just knowing I have to get out of there now.

"I'm sorry," I stammer, "but I have to go—,"

He doesn't reply, looking at me sadly.

I can't stand it anymore, diving for the front door and putting on my shoes just as the front door unlocks. My mother's there, holding bags of fruit from the local market, her face flushed. She brightens when she sees me.

"Taichi, stay for dinner?"

"I can't—," I manage to gasp, trying to push past her, but she blocks me, giving me a look.

"Taichi," she repeats slower this time, "stay for dinner?"

Before I can answer, I hear the one voice I can't handle hearing again so soon.

"Yuuko, I think this is spilling…."

Mimi's grasping onto a plastic container of some kind of stew, rounding the corner of the hallway and entering the door to my parents' apartment, her gaze directed at the food she's carrying as she concentrates on not spilling any more broth.

She hasn't noticed me yet.

And I'm frozen where I stand.

_This can't be happening._

My mother takes my elbow and drags me back inside the flat.

"Good!" she smiles, please. "You're staying for dinner!"

"Susumu," Mimi calls as she slips off her shoes, looking down, "I made you your favorite for your anniversary dinner, just like I…promised…." She stops, staring at me. "Taichi," she says, and then shuts up, gripping her container tightly, unmoving.

I don't say anything.

_This can't be happening_.

Then I snap out of it, gritting my teeth, determined to be strong.

"I said I have to go, Mom," I interrupt her rambling to my father, prying her fingers off my and moving towards the door.

"Taichi!" my mother calls, frustrated, but I shake my head.

"Just stay out of it, okay?" I snap back, and she grows quiet at once.

My father's glaring at me. "Don't talk to her like—,"

"Don't tell me what to do!"

"Yagami Taichi, if you raise your voice to me one more time—,"

"You'll do what, Dad? Ground me? Take away my allowance? Tell my ex to break up with me? _Again_?"

"It had nothing to do with him," Mimi says softly.

I shake my head. "Forget it."

"Taichi," my father calls, fists clenched where he stands, but I ignore him.

I stalk past Mimi and march down the hallway, refusing to look back, desperate not to remember anything about her as I leave her behind again, but the universe seems to hate me and soon I hear footsteps following me. I stop at the end of the hallway, rounding on her.

"_What_?" I demand, masking everything I'm feeling with anger, the easiest of emotions.

"We need to talk," she says.

_This can't be happening_.

"As far as I can recall, you can only break up with a person _once_."

Her cheeks redden. "Taichi, going on a break was a decision we both made—,"

"Are you _kidding_ me?" I interrupt, adamant. "Mimi, that was all _you_, all right? _You're_ the one who wanted the space, the time, the reasons. It was you. _I_ was willing to make us work; _you_ just—,"

"Don't tell me what I feel, Taichi!" she snaps. "I want us to work, too! I'm hurting, too!"

"But from what, Mimi? From what? And why can't I do anything? Why do you have to leave me behind and figure this out on your own? Why can't I help you? Why can't I be there, Mimi, why won't you just let me be there—?"

"_Because I'm scared of you_," she bursts out suddenly.

I freeze.

_This can't be happening._

She shrugs, tugging at the hem of her jacket nervously. "Because you scare me."

I open my mouth, mind blank, then close it again.

"You and me, Taichi, that scares me. Everything we'd been through, everything we're going through now, that scares me. Knowing that this might actually be it scares me. Loving you this much scares me. I've never done this before, Tai. Before, everything ended, but I don't want _this_ to end and knowing that it might or might not scares me, because for the first time in my life, I'm understanding what that kind of commitment means and what it costs and all of that _scares_ _me_. Because I don't know if I'm ready for that. If we're ready for something like that. And there's more," she adds when I try to say something. I stop, and she continues, "I'm scared that I'm going to go ahead and push forward with this, keep going with this with you, and maybe somewhere down the road you're going to find something else. Or maybe I'm going to find something else. And then—,"

"That's ridiculous," I dismiss coldly, voice recovered. "There's never going to be anything else for me, Mimi, because you're all that makes sense to me. You're all that feels right. And it's always going to be you."

She smiles weakly, teary. "And that's why I'm so scared about all this, Taichi."

I soften, staring at her. "Mimi…."

"Oh, please don't," she breathes when I reach out and pull her into my arms. But I don't let go, pressing her close against me, my face buried in her hair. She doesn't try to push away, but I can feel her shuddering in my arms, trembling. I just hold her tighter, wanting to make it stop.

"You think I'm not scared, too?" I ask quietly. "I've never felt this before either. I've never done this before, gone this far before, and it scares me, too."

With heavy arms, I gently push her back, looking into her face seriously.

"And that's why we have to do this."

She stares up at me, startled. "What?"

"That's why we need this, Mimi," I whisper. "My father was right. We need this, we need to understand this on our own before we can try to understand it together." I grasp her hand tightly. "You have no idea how much I love you. And neither do I. But I don't want to be with you and do this with you unless I know what that means, Mi. That wouldn't be fair to you, to us."

She nods slowly.

"I know."

"So we know what this means, for now, right?"

"Yeah..."

_How can this be happening?_

I kiss her forehead.

"Goodbye, Mimi."

"Bye," she whispers.

And as I walk away, I realize just how fucking harder it is to do a second time.

But, see, my dad _was_ right.

This _is_ right.

It _has_ to be right.

Groaning, I drag myself out of the cab, tipping the driver and making my way up to Takeru's apartment. He managed not to blow up completely at Yamato for what I'd done to his place when he unexpectedly came home to Japan a few days ago, but I had yet to face his wrath firsthand, mostly because I have enough crises to deal with right now without having to try and deal with Takeru and everything that was going on there.

But I am willing to try and talk to Yamato about it.

He'd understand, right? He'd be my unbiased eyes. Well, for the most part.

_Dammit._

_This can't be happening…._

What am I waiting for? A sign from God, telling me what to do? Do I stay with the woman I love and risk hurting her all over again? Can I handle leaving her? Is any of this even worth it? Is giving into fear going to protect us? Is ignoring it going to save us?

What the hell are we even doing?

_What's the fucking _point_…?_

Frustrated, I call Yamato's name when I get inside, after carefully checking to see that Takeru isn't around. I'd so far managed to time my entrances and exists to not coincide with his, but I'd had several near slip-ups. And I am definitely _not_ in the mood to deal with anything else right now. I'll just explode.

Funny thing is, when I walk into Yamato's bedroom, still in search of my once reliable best friend, I stumble upon something very interesting:

Hikari is perched by the side on his bed and Yamato is sitting up, his left leg propped on top of the two pink pillows Mimi had given him to stay comfortable. There's a bowl of unfinished soup on the bedside table, and his old acoustic guitar is leaning against the side of the bed. The small television is on, playing a rerun of a _Tom and Jerry_ episode, the volume turned down low.

And Yamato has Hikari's face in his hands, and his lips are kissing hers, and their eyes are closed, and neither one of them has realized I'm standing in the doorway.

I immediately turn around and leave the room, pausing in the hallway.

Well, that was interesting.

So let's think this through, calmly and rationally.

Hikari is my kid sister.

Yamato is my best friend.

Currently, my best friend has his tongue down my kid sister's throat.

_Huh._

All right.

Let's go back over this again, calmly and rationally.

Hikari is a shy, young second grade school teacher and the sweetest, kindest, most deserving person I know.

Yamato is an up-and-coming rock star recognized as the newest sex god of Japan's alternative music industry.

_Huh_.

I stand very still, waiting for it all to sink in, overwhelmed by a million different things.

And finally, it does.

I explode: "_Holy fucking shit—_!"


	17. Chapter 17: Takeru

**Done That**

Women, fame, and money. Things normal guys would enjoy. But Taichi, Takeru, Jyou and Yamato, four frustrated, desperate, clueless, and indecisive young men, are just about ready to throw in the chips. AU Sequel to 'Been There.'

**Disclaimer**: I don't own.

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Taichi is one of those creative angry people.

That is, when he gets angry, his choice of language is often very creative and quite a skill unto itself.

Cue screeching shrieking explosion of rather descriptive adjectives censored here to protect your ears as I tell you what happened in my apartment just seconds ago.

I am working at home, holed up in my room with the chair propped up against the bedroom door to keep anyone from coming inside and me from thinking of leaving. It's been nearly a week since I've gotten back to Japan, and I'm trying to move on best as I can. Obviously, the best way to keep from remembering things is to keep yourself busy, so that's what I've been doing. Whether it's with the newspaper, giving Ken peptalks with Iori and Koushiro as the date of the wedding draws ever so much nearer, or trying to salvage what's left of my mutilated apartment, I've managed to do as I've planned so far.

I still haven't seen Daisuke or Sumiko, though Iori's told me all about their progress though he sincerely doesn't know what happened. I'm not stupid enough to explain, so I don't ask any questions or answer any of his, and so far I think what went on between the three of us hasn't reached anyone else's ears apart from Taichi, Jyou, and Yamato. And I plan to keep it that way.

Anyway, back to today.

After taking off so unexpectedly for so long, I know I absolutely have to make up for all my past excuses to my editor, and I've been determined to do that with fabulous future articles. Thus, I decided to barricade myself in my room until I am back in the swing of things, writing-wise.

Just as I have almost fully immersed myself in a report about the Japanese national football team's performance in the recently ended World Cup, I am interrupted by such an unearthly scream that I jump right off my bed on instinct, get entangled in my laptop power cords and the telephone line, trip, slam my head against the side of the bed on the way down, and finally land in a sprawled and awkward heap on my floor, breathing hard.

Before I can gather my senses, I hear more shouting and I leap to my feet, stumbling painfully for the door, stubbing my toe on the chair, smacking myself in the forehead when I yank the door open too quickly, and trip _again_ on the rug in the hallway, sliding face-first into the dining room with every inch of my body unbearably sore.

"_I do _not_ have _time_ for this_!" Taichi's voice screams, and I look up, dazed, to see him stomping towards the door with Hikari trying to stop him and Yamato trying to stop her.

I open my mouth to ask what happened, impossibly confused, when Taichi spins around, violently shaking his sister off and shouting,

"_I_ am in a _really_ difficult place in my life right now and the _two_ people who are supposed to be helping _me_ are too busy helping themselves—_to each other_!"

My jaw drops open.

"_What_?"

All three of them jump, having noticed me sprawled on the floor only at that moment when I give myself away.

Taichi stares at me, Hikari covers her face with her hands, and Yamato tries to melt into the floorboards.

"Well, at least I'm not the _very_ last person to find out!" Taichi snaps, throwing up his hands and yanking the door open. "_There's_ some consolation, being the brother _and_ the best friend! How very _considerate_ of you two!"

"Taichi, please—," Hikari tries again, truly regretting the situation, probably unused to keeping such a big issue a secret too long from her brother.

But he just stomps past her with another exclamation of "I can't handle this right now!" and slamming the door shut behind him.

She flinches, worriedly glancing at Yamato, who looks like he's about to be sick.

I sit up.

"What the fuck was that about?" I demand, to which Yamato suddenly snaps open his eyes and loudly forbids me from ever using that word in his presence ever again, leaving Hikari to shudder at some seemingly awful memory and me in even more confusion when the two of them look at each other rather seriously for a long moment—then promptly burst into peals of laughter.

I furiously glance back between the two of them, wincing as I stretch my paining limbs, already feeling a delightfully throbbing bruise growing on my temple.

"What?" I shout, angry that I can't understand their inside jokes and wondering if I'd really been gone that long to come back to friends who had clearly gone insane.

But all fury and confusion die away when Yamato awkwardly slides to the ground and Hikari crawls over to his side, and he—without a second thought—cups her chin and kisses her swiftly on the mouth.

I swoon.

"What the fucking hell is going on?" I cry, scrambling to my feet.

Yamato's almost in tears laughing, "What—did—I—tell—you—about—using—that—word?" he demands between gasps, and Hikari collapses into his open arms, giggling.

I left them for less than a few weeks and they've all gone stark raving _mad_!

Is this supposed to be some kind of divine punishment?

To come home to _this_—to rumors of Taichi and Mimi breaking up and Yamato and Hikari hooking up? _And—and—_

I stop, face white.

Oh, dear God.

I've slept with Hikari before, too.

And now she's with my brother.

Ew, ew, _ew_.

Granted, our fling was a long, long, _long_ time ago—back in college (and I always thought whatever people do in college stays in college, if you catch my drift)—but still, to think that I've shared something like that with her and now she and Yamato are—

Ew, ew, _ew_.

"Takeru, are you all right?" Hikari's voice stirs me back to reality, and I blink, looking up to see her watching me with concern, cuddled under Yamato's protective arm.

"That flu hasn't come back, has it?" Yamato inquires, brows knit as whatever humor he previously saw is replaced with brotherly worry.

"Don't worry about Taichi," Hikari tells me as though she suspects that to be the reason of the pure horror on my face.

Yamato grins, "He took it better than we thought. He should be fine in a day or so, yeah?"

Hikari smiles up at him, nodding.

I, on the other hand, have been scarred for life.

I explode, "I don't have time for this!"

And with that, I march out the door, unable to stand it any longer.

"Why do they seem so similar sometimes?" Yamato asks Hikari vaguely just before I shut the door.

I groan, leaning with my back against it, closing my eyes. But when I stumble towards the elevator, desperately in need of something very heavy to drink, I freeze with my hand poised to push the button.

There on the top of the steps is Taichi, face in his hands, sitting absolutely still.

I drop my arm, watching him, debating whether or not to say anything. I mean, we weren't exactly on the best of terms when I last saw him….

Then again, while things in a way got better for me after I made up my mind to face things and come back, things certainly haven't gotten much easier for him.

I shake my head.

"I know you're standing there and you can shut up," he mutters just as I open my mouth to speak.

Smirking, I scratch my head, wandering closer, lingering over the top of the staircase where he sits dejectedly.

"So," I interrupt after a moment, pointedly ignoring his last sentence.

"For Christ's sake, _shut up_."

"You mean, you don't find this in any way frightening?"

"I mean, shut the fuck _up_."

I drop to a crouch, cocking my head to the side. "You mean, we're talking again?"

He's quiet, back still turned to me.

I sigh, hopes falling. Maybe I just aimed to high the first time. Cat did warn me it would take a while. But I'm inherently persistent—it comes with being naturally optimistic.

This time, however, I decide to pull back until a more opportune situation. Clearly, the recently discovered relationship between our two siblings won't be the conversation to bond over. If anything, it's making this all a hell of a lot more awkward.

But hey, welcome to my life.

"Okay, I get it," I say, dusting my pants as I stand up again. "I'm shutting up…."

Then he turns, dropping his hands, glancing back at me.

"I don't want to be related to you."

Now _that_ is good enough for me.

"Feeling's mutual."

He shakes his head, gazing down the empty stairwell. "So how did we not see this coming?"

"Beats me," I shrug, taking a careful seat beside him on the steps. "Although…."

"Say they fit and I swear to God I'll—,"

"I was just going to say that sometimes the most unexpected situations turn out to be the best." I pause, adding when he makes no effort to sugarcoat the absolute disbelief on his face, "Look, at the very least, we know that we don't have anything to really worry about. We know them both. And maybe we don't know how it's going to end, but at least we can trust them to make it a good run for as long as they can. That's the important part, right?"

He grumbles.

"Doesn't mean I'm going to stop hating it."

"Hey, imagine how I feel. Sure, you're the big brother and the best friend; I'm the little brother and the ex-boy…friend…" I trail off in a very tiny voice, realizing too late I probably shouldn't have said that, no matter how long it's been.

He turns his head and shoots me an evil look.

I shrug, sheepish.

"It's true."

He doesn't say anything, grumbling under his breath and tiredly rubbing his face.

I decide to wait a few minutes before attempting to break the silence, hoping to take as much advantage of his willingness to speak to me as I can.

"Weren't you going to have dinner with your parents tonight? I thought that was where Hikari said you were going."

He rolls his eyes.

"Would _you_ stay for one my mother's dinners?"

I tug on the collar of my shirt, wisely side-stepping the question.

"Besides," he says, voluntarily continuing conversation (another good sign), "Mimi showed up."

I smile, "Your parents are in love with her, aren't they?"

"A lot of people are."

"Taichi…."

"It's over, I know, I'm just trying to get used to it," he dismisses, running his fingers through unkempt dark brown hair. "And it's taking a while…."

"Well, what'd you expect? After everything you two've been through—,"

"I _know_," he snaps, irritated.

I take his frustration without flinching, thinking he has the right to be angry about this. I know I would. I mean, I can say that I've had to deal with a lot of shit these past few weeks, but at least I haven't lost everything. I have no idea what he's going through—and quite frankly, I hope I never do.

"I don't know what to do, Takeru," he admits finally. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Nothing," I reply automatically.

He raises an eyebrow and I repeat myself.

"Just…let it go for a while. Leave it alone. Get away and give yourself some time."

"I'm not really into France."

Now it's my turn to roll my eyes.

"The point is that it's okay to want to hide for a little bit, but only if you know you have to go back sometime. Some time apart will make things easier, trust me."

He sighs. "Maybe…."

I lean forward.

"Look, I don't know what happened between the two of you and you have every right to keep what happened to yourselves; it's no one's business but yours. But trying to deal with it by yourself isn't going to work. You don't move on like that."

He pauses.

"Catherine tell you that?"

"That obvious?"

"You're not exactly Boy-Wonder when it comes to relationship advice."

"Agreed." I smile, "But it's good advice."

"Agreed."

Silence lingers and I shift, stretching my legs lazily, fingering the bruise on my forehead. I hesitate, a new thought coming to my mind, but unsure if I should bring it up in front of him. I decide to take the chance.

"How's Daisuke doing?" I ask casually.

He stops fiddling with the cuffs of his long-sleeve shirt as though surprised. But his response is just as casual.

"Fine."

"Yeah…."

"I don't think he's ready for this, yet, Takeru."

I nod wordlessly.

"But that doesn't mean he ever won't be." He fumbles with his shirt sleeve again, avoiding me. "Tell you what. You face him at Ken and Miyako's wedding, and I'll face Mimi there, too. But until then, we let fate unravel and step aside ourselves, deal?"

Relieved, I smile weakly.

"Deal."

But even while we're shaking on it, I can tell his heart isn't there at all. I grip his hand tightly, forcing him to listen to me.

"It's going to get better."

It's really unnerving to see someone like him look so lost. Then again, anyone standing in the aftermath of something that could have lasted forever is bound to find it disorienting in several ways, for several days. If anything, he deserves a chance to mope around for a while.

So he right admits, "I don't know, Takeru. Suddenly, we're not who I thought we were. I mean, Mimi—how couldn't I know what she was feeling until it was too late? What did I miss?"

"Mimi is not a brave person, Tai," I remark quietly. He doesn't look at me and I hesitate before going on. "She's not as strong as you."

Finally, he shakes his head.

"What makes you think I'm strong all the time, either, Takeru?"

Before I can answer, a new face appears as the elevator door opens and out steps Koushiro, holding a carry-out bag from a nearby fast-food restaurant. He raises an interested eyebrow when he sees the two of us sitting on the stairs.

"What are you two doing out here?"

"Recuperating," I reply dryly.

Taichi actually smiles, for the first time in a long while.

"Did I miss something?" Koushiro asks, confused.

Taichi jerks his head at the closed door to my apartment.

"I've got some unexpected news for you."

The redhead narrows his eyes, not sure if we're joking or not.

"Looks like Yamato and Hikari are an 'item'," I say, accessorizing my words with finger quotation marks.

His eyes grow wide.

"You mean Sora _wasn't_ lying to me about that?" he asks, shocked.

Taichi's face darkens and I laugh in spite of myself.

"Should we take it as an insult that we're the last to know what goes on between our own families?" I inquire of him, and he throws me a look.

"Why are you here?" I ask Koushiro when Taichi makes it clear he won't talk about our siblings anymore.

He gestures to the bag in his hand.

"Came to visit, and I brought food since I know your appliances aren't working perfectly well yet."

Now I'm the one finding no humor in any of this and Taichi's torn between amusement and guilt.

"I wouldn't have had to resort to 'fixing' everything if my sister and your brother weren't too busy with themselves to help me deal with things in more practical ways," he defends himself.

I make a face, "Do you have any idea how much fixing what you _broke_—and yes, Taichi, you _broke_ them and came no where near to ever fixing anything—is going to cost me?"

"I already offered to pay for it."

"That's not the point!"

"Oh, be a man and take the money."

"This from you, the man so stuck on his pride that he won't look for a job because he just assumes one will come chasing after him sooner or later? That's not how the employed world works, Taichi."

"What makes you think you can lecture me about the difficulties of finding a job? If your mother hadn't been a reporter, you _know_ you wouldn't be at that newspaper—,"

I stand at once.

"Where are you going?" Taichi demands as I stomp over to my flat again.

"Going to toss your stupid toolbox out the stupid window—,"

"No!" he cries, lunging after me, desperate to rescue his precious tools before I get my hands on them, and Koushiro finally intervenes our half-joking, half-serious banter before it gets ugly.

"Well, it's good to see you two back to normal."

We both stop, surprised.

"Huh?" Taichi grunts, confused.

"Well, what with Hikari and Yamato going on as they are, you two are handling it awfully well. And look on the bright side," Koushiro concludes with a sigh.

We both turn our heads to study him closely, waiting.

The redhead scratches his chin thoughtfully, nodding to the apartment.

"They can't be doing much of anything in there while his leg is broken."

I hide my face in my hand, making a mental note to bang my head repeatedly on the nearest hard surface as soon as possible to get these mortifying pictures out of my mind.

Taichi warns in a low, calm voice, "Koushiro, you have ten seconds."

The redhead grumbles.

"All I ever do when I come to this apartment is run…."

"_Ten_!" Taichi shouts, and the chase begins.

Hey, boys _will_ be boys, brothers will be brothers, and friends will be friends, no matter the ages.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	18. Chapter 18: Jyou

**Done That**

* * *

Women, fame, and money. Things normal guys would enjoy. But Taichi, Takeru, Jyou and Yamato, four frustrated, desperate, clueless, and indecisive young men, are just about ready to throw in the chips. AU Sequel to 'Been There.'

**Disclaimer**: I don't own.

* * *

"If I ever try to get married," I whisper quietly, "shoot me." 

Yamato mutters back, "Gladly."

We sink low in our chairs at the same time, dying slowly yet surely.

Across the room, lounging in a blue arm chair, Taichi cocks his head to the side, frowning.

"What _now_?" Ken, who's standing in the middle of the room as though on display for our approval or disapproval, sighs, exasperated.

Taichi shrugs. "I don't know…it just looks…so…so _Bond_-_ish_."

Ken stares.

"Bond-ish."

"Yeah," Taichi affirms, yawning. "And no offense, Ken, but you can't exactly pull off the womanizing secret spy look." He pauses. "Unless, you know, you were me."

Yamato and I sink even lower into our chairs.

"You've found something wrong with every suit I've tried on," the groom-to-be accuses.

"That's not true," Taichi defended, hurt. "You just haven't found one that's right. That's not _my _fault."

Ken cannot speak, but it's not the friendly kind of silence.

I wince, squinting at the two of them. Besides me, my friend adjusts himself in his chair for the fourteenth time in the last minute, taking his time to make as much of an effort as possible.

"You can shoot me now if you want," Yamato offers me quietly, and I choke back a laugh.

"Fine," Ken grumbles, stomping back into the changing room.

Once he's out of earshot, I lean forward a little, exasperated. "Taichi, seriously."

"What?"

"You may not have a job right now, but _we_ still work for a living," I remind spitefully.

I decide not to go into detail about how I've started working overtime at the hospital lately just to make a little extra money. Only Yamato has read between the lines of my excuses and guessed why I've started that habit, but before he could get me to admit I had a problem, Ken recruited us to help him rent his tuxedo for the wedding next week.

Taichi—who's been doing absolutely _nothing_ since he quit his job (all that stuff he told his parents to assure them was a total lie)—decided to tag along at the last minute, and thus a trip to the store that was only supposed to last three hours has turned into six.

Now, Taichi raises an eyebrow at Yamato's leg, which is still in a cast. The singer can now move around fairly well without crutches, but Hikari won't let him leave the apartment without them, much to his discomfort and Taichi's absolute amusement (he calls it his revenge).

Yamato now growls, annoyed.

"I don't need to walk to write songs," he defends.

Taichi doesn't say anything, pursing his lips.

I swear he's made it his mission to become the most difficult man alive ever since The Breakup (and I capitalize this because it's the only such of its kind that matters to our group of friends anymore; just the other day, I spent an evening with Iori debating about it over dinner, until Takeru came by wanting to place bets and Koushiro had to stop us from taking him up on it). And he's doing it oh so well.

I massage my forehead.

"Can we please try and wrap things up within the hour?" I beg, thinking about how many patients I could have helped by now. Let's face it, that hospital can't operate properly without me. I'm _needed_.

"Then make yourself useful and help him find the right suit," Taichi answers curtly.

Yamato rises to smack him, but I grab his arm, restraining him.

Ken comes out with another suit on. This one has silver patterns on the cuffs and buttons. It actually looks pretty nice, in my opinion. Of course, I don't wear tuxedos so what do I know.

"Well?"

"Great," Yamato pipes up eagerly, pointedly shooting Taichi a look as warning.

He doesn't listen.

"I don't kno—,"

"Ring it up!" Yamato shouts, waving his crutch threateningly at his best friend and stumbling to his feet. "Let's go. Stay out any longer and Miyako's going to worry, you know that."

Ken realizes the sense in that statement and agrees. Taichi opens his mouth again to protest with yet another critique of this outfit, but I leap out of my seat and clamp my hand over his mouth.

"We'll be right behind you," I call after the two of them as they go on ahead to make the arrangements.

"Mfusheifamum," Taichi cries, struggling, but I just hold him down all the more.

"Okay," Ken agrees.

Once they're gone, I glare hard at Taichi.

"I'll let you go only if you promise to be quiet."

"Hphmfumnph!"

I slowly release him, stepping back.

"You've got a lot of nerve, you know that?"

He coughs, wiping his mouth. "Who told you that you had to press that hard?" he grumbles.

"Who told you to act like a bastard?"

He smirks.

"No one. Just threw that one out for my own pleasure…."

"Taichi," I sigh, exasperated. "You're not making things any easier for yourself by behaving like a child."

"You're the one who's trying to take away my workaholic-ness."

I stare, blankly.

"That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

"So is hiding behind your work to swallow being disappointed in yourself." He sits up, shaking his head. "That's what I tried for years, Jyou. And look where it got me."

I can't help by smile a little.

"Hey, don't blame your work. That was mostly your fault."

He rolls his eyes. "This is why I just _love_ talking to you…."

"Come on. I'm getting weird vibes from these wedding suits."

He drags himself out of the chair, shoving his hands into his pockets as he follows me out. Okay, so that's a bit of an overstatement. He strides out in total bliss, but I think it's safe to say that he's faking it. Okay, so that's a total lie, but clearly, the reverse in maturity level must mean something. He's like he was in college, before he started changing and becoming obsessed with his work and distracted by—

"When are you going to put yourself back together?"

It's my turn to be caught off guard. After all, _that's_ the last thing you'd expect _Taichi_ to be asking of you.

"What do you mean?" I ask, feigning innocence.

He narrows his eyes, seeing through my act with eyes of a hawk.

"The only reason you're devoting yourself to a hospital that barely pays you anything for all the work you do is because you think somehow you're not good enough and that you've failed somewhere along the way because you didn't get to the Tokyo University hospital of your dreams."

My mouth parts in shock, but before I can think of anything to say in my defense, Ken pops back in the room.

"You guys ready to go?"

"What's the rush?" Taichi drawls, lazy as ever.

I swear to God, he makes employment look like a disease.

"Sora called. Seems there's a disaster at the bridal shop and we've been summoned," Yamato explains, beckoning us to hurry up and leave.

"But I don't _wanna_…." Taichi whines, shoulders slumping automatically.

I swear to God, he makes maturity look like disease.

"Well, too bad," Yamato snaps, looking very much like a father as he cuffs Taichi by the neck and drags him best as his handicapped self can out of the store and onto the street.

Luckily for all of us, Ken and Miyako had chosen to do their final settling of ceremonial attire on the same day, and both stores were relatively close to each other. All we men had to do is (literally) cross the street. Of course, this takes considerable time because I refuse to let Taichi jaywalk and Ken refuses to let Yamato limp by without being guided by the arm, despite the rocker's repeated attempts to break out of Ken's grasp and cross the road by himself.

Unluckily for all of us, Mimi's there.

The poor thing's sprawled on her stomach on the carpeted floor of the bridal shop, bored out of her mind most likely, her face buried in her folded arms. Hikari's sitting up in a chair, staring down at her friend's prostrate, still form, brown eyes lifeless and dull. Miyako is engaged in a not-so-friendly-banter with the saleswoman while Sora herself is standing in the middle of the room by Mimi's head, near the wall of mirrors, gazing at her reflection with pure, hideous disgust.

Her dress is a nauseating purple.

_Nauseating_.

Plum, to be exact.

And Sora looks as though she'd rather go to the wedding naked than be caught dead wearing _that_ contraption.

"Oh my God," Yamato says, summing up all our thoughts in a simple phrase spoken in absolute horror.

Hikari, upon hearing her boyfriend's voice, immediately snaps out of her daze, brightening. She sits straight up, then balks when she sees her brother lingering in Yamato's shadow.

I exchange looks with Ken.

_This can't be good._

"You look so—," Yamato tries to say, stammering for the right word when Sora turns around and fixes him a nasty glare, blaming him for all her troubles.

"Slimming," Taichi volunteers.

"I hate you," she declares so lowly and dangerously we all take a step back for our own safety.

Hikari gets up, offering Yamato her seat, which he tries to decline until Ken insists he take it. The two of them sit down together, Hikari explaining what happened while Ken goes over to sort matters through between his fiancée and the saleswoman.

I frown at Mimi, who still hasn't moved.

"Um…" I cough, nodding at her when I catch Sora's eye.

"I don't know _what_ she's doing—," Sora waves her hand dismissively, angry still.

"She's sleeping," Taichi mutters behind me. "That's what she does when she's pretending to care. Somewhere in the middle of everything you think is important, she'll fall asleep on you, and you'll get so frustrated with her you'll forget what you meant to say and she won't be bored anymore. Then she wins."

I shift uneasily, biting my lip. I can deal with an overtly lazy, blindly blissful Taichi. But not the one he becomes whenever you mention his ex-girlfriend's name. It's hardly been three weeks and we're all still tiptoeing around the issue. It's ridiculous, I know, but you can't see the way he's looking at her right now.

And neither can she.

Quite frankly, despite what any of us may think of their situation, they made their decision and it's up to us to respect that choice. So for their sakes, we should be trying anything. And that means keeping them separate for as long as possible.

Still, as Sora pointed out to me on the phone earlier that week, they can't just avoid each other forever. They're still friends, aren't they? Or can they not go back to being just friends, after everything they'd been through together?

Where _do_ you go when that happens?

"Really?" Hikari looks at her closely. "Should I wake her up?"

"I wouldn't," Yamato answers dryly, glancing at the dozing woman with envy.

"She's a bitch in the mornings," Taichi murmurs.

"I heard that," Mimi mumbles and we all jump, surprised.

Taichi stops, staring at her with slightly widened eyes.

"I'd only pretend to sleep to get you to shut up. And then I'd win," she goes on, trailing off into a silence so long that I think she's really fallen asleep this time.

And at that, Taichi smiles.

By Jove, I think we've found a major breakthrough.

How, I have absolutely no earthly idea, but I'm not about to let them pass up this opportunity to learn to act like civil human beings towards each other.

So I conspicuously nod at Yamato to follow me out of the room, and Hikari (who's much quicker than her boyfriend about things of this nature) helps Sora gather up the skirts of her hideous purple bridesmaid gown to waddle back into the dressing room to change, and Ken trails hopelessly after Miyako who charges after the saleswoman demanding answers in a rather loud voice.

I myself try to slip out unnoticed, warily eyeing the two of them as Mimi rolls over on her back and smiles gently up at him. She looks unusually tired. But then she raises an arm and motions for him to come closer.

Taichi does, stepping gingerly before dropping into a crouch.

"How are you doing?" he asks quietly after a moment.

I know better than to eavesdrop, but curiosity gets the better of me and I slow down dramatically in my exit, straining to listen.

"I was up all night arguing with that new chef I got. You remember him, don't you? The French one?" Taichi nods and she sighs, stretching her arms over her head and then dropping them to her side, spreading them out lazily. "Oh, it was just the worst time for that kind of conversation. My head is still aching. I have no idea what I'm going to do when we go back after the wedding."

I stop, cringing.

Taichi picks up on the word, too, unfortunately, and it's as though the whole mood of the room vanishes, just like that.

He lowers his gaze.

"I'm not going back to London, Mimi," he reminds quietly.

She grows still.

"That's right," she remembers after a moment. "I'd forgotten."

She hesitates, "It's just me now."

"Yeah…." He's silent, and then he smiles suddenly, faintly. "But that's just how it is. We already made up our minds. And I made up my mind about London for sure this time. I'm not going back. I'm done with that, with living like that."

She gazes at him with an undecipherable expression and even I find it hard to look at her then. I can't imagine how Taichi can manage to keep her gaze the way he is without breaking.

"I'm proud of you."

"You shouldn't be," he whispers back.

"I shouldn't be a lot of things, but look where I am now."

He sighs, "Oh, Mi…."

She pushes herself up to a sitting position, dusting her hands, avoiding him. "Do me a favor, and don't call me that anymore."

I don't even have to look at his face to see how much that one sentence hurts him. He stands quickly, too quickly, and she realizes the mistake too late. She looks up at him, but his face is stoic. She sighs, frustrated.

"I can't help how I feel, Taichi."

He doesn't answer.

"And I can't ignore it, either. All I now is that there're things I need to figure out, and I haven't yet. I don't want to hurt you. You know that's the last thing I want. You know that."

He still doesn't reply.

She shuts her eyes tightly.

"But I know I have. And telling you I'm sorry isn't going to make up for all this, is it?"

He says not one word.

"So even if I go through this and realize it's still you, you might not be there anymore waiting. Because it would be wrong to ask you to wait. It would be selfish and cruel, and I've already done that enough by now, haven't I? I've done enough."

He doesn't respond.

"But I need to know one more thing," she says suddenly. "Tai, do you hate me for doing this to you?"

He looks at her sadly. "I really want to."

I'm so shocked I walk smack into the door in my attempt to sneak out, startling the both of them out of their little world. I'm shamefaced, guilty.

"Jyou!" Mimi gasps, surprised.

Taichi just throws me a look, knowing perfectly well why I'd taken so long in leaving. But he saves me the trouble of trying to think up a clever excuse. Instead, he just stalks right by me and out the door.

I stare after him, uncertain, before glancing back at Mimi.

She shakes her head.

Sora then reemerges from the dressing room, staring back between the two of us.

"Where's Taichi?" she asks, suddenly realizing his absence.

When neither of us answers, she assumes what happened and sighs deeply, hooking her purse over her shoulder. "I'll deal with him," she promises her best friend, who tries to reply to beg her to leave it well enough alone, but unfortunately, none of us are very good at obeying that request.

After a moment's hesitation, I decide to go after her.

Stepping out onto the street, I gather my surroundings before trailing in her direction. I finally catch up with her at the corner where she's waiting for a stoplight to change.

"Where do you think he went?"

"Oh, I have no idea. I just needed an excuse to get out of there."

I stare at her, openmouthed in shock.

"What?" she looks back at me, innocent.

"It's like I'm seeing a whole other side of you," I marvel.

She rolls her eyes.

"A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do, Jyou."

"Clearly."

"Besides, I couldn't stand any more relationship problems…," she mumbles halfheartedly.

I raise an eyebrow. "Are you all right?"

She crosses her arms over her chest, frowning a little.

"I hate to sound selfish, but I can't help but notice how everything seems to be happening for everyone else, but I'm still stuck where I've been for the past year. It's just something I've been dealing with for a while and I thought it'd go away by now, but it hasn't. And it's not as though Miyako and Ken's wedding's making it any easier…."

Weddings are evil things.

"Some things happen for people at different times," I reassure. "You shouldn't get discouraged."

"Don't be silly, Jyou," she murmurs softly. "I'm human. I'll always get discouraged."

I take her by the arm, holding her protectively as I walk her across the street when the light changes.

"That's not you, Sora. That's not how anyone's supposed to think. A few setbacks shouldn't get you down forever. It's okay to feel sad, but hiding or wallowing isn't going to make it easier. You just need to step back, relax, and press forward all the more harder. You'll be surprised what can happen. And besides, if you—why are you looking at me like that?"

She continues to smile, smirking now.

"Think, Jyou," she says airily.

It takes a while, but I finally put two and two together and I stop, standing still on the sidewalk.

She turns around, grinning at me.

I make a face, pushing my glasses back up to the bridge of my nose.

"All right, point taken." I smile, grateful, unable to figure out where I got friends like these. "But it's hard."

She reaches out and slips her hand into mine.

"I believe in you, Jyou. I don't think the world got you this far to just drop you now. There's a reason why you didn't get that transfer. Somebody wants you here, and maybe it doesn't make sense right now, but things will work out. Things have a tendency of working out."

She smiles broadly.

"Besides," she continues, "at least here, you'll have your friends with you."

I squeeze her hand, grateful. It really feels nice to be needed, to be remembered. And sometimes it's those kinds of assurances you need to give you the boost you've been waiting for.

She's right.

I may not understand why things happened the way they did, but at least I'm not alone.

I've got twelve other confused souls to keep me company.

Albeit, it's _weird_ company, but I think I'll take it.

God knows, I need it.

* * *


	19. Chapter 19: Yamato

**Done That**

* * *

Women, fame, and money. Things normal guys would enjoy. But Taichi, Takeru, Jyou and Yamato, four frustrated, desperate, clueless, and indecisive young men, are just about ready to throw in the chips. AU Sequel to 'Been There.' 

**Disclaimer**: I don't own.

**Author's Note**: Okay, I'm going to go ahead and apologize here for the small, tiny itty bitty little snide comment about America (and by that, I mean the government). I can't help but put my opinion into my writing, although I know I shouldn't. It can't be helped.

* * *

It's something no boyfriend wants to hear, wants to face, wants to admit and deal with when you've only been officially dating for less than a couple weeks: 

"Hey, beautiful!"

My frown deepens automatically, but Willis just drops his bags as he steps into the airport lobby, holding out his arms and enveloping Hikari (a.k.a. _my_ girlfriend) in a very tight embrace. He wraps his arms low about her waist, lifting her up into the air and swinging her around once or twice before coming to a stop. Much to my displeasure, he doesn't put her down after that, only holds her close and looks up into her face with a playful smirk.

"So what's this I hear about you getting off the market?"

I decide that's my cue, and I clear my throat loudly.

"Glad to have you back, Willis," I lie blatantly.

Hikari shakes her head at me but I'm too bitter to heed her warnings.

I really don't see why she had to go pick him up at the airport, or why Daisuke—his own best friend—couldn't take the time out of his busy schedule to meet him instead. But, no. The man used his marriage counseling session as an excuse and Hikari was so appalled when she found out I had tried to talk Daisuke into skipping his therapy appointment that she dragged me along with her to get Willis as punishment.

As though knowing he was back in Japan wasn't torturous enough.

No, I also have to watch him fall all over her the way he is right now.

Now Hikari swears she told Willis about us when she told everyone else, but I still have my secret doubts.

After all, it _is_ Willis.

And he _is_ American. Americans are into taking what doesn't belong to them, aren't they?

And it's not as though nothing's never happened between them in the past.

Thing is, _I'm_ her future.

So I shouldn't be worried.

And I'm not.

Not really.

All the same, I think I'm right in asking Ken to convince Miyako to rearrange the seating arrangements at the reception to keep Willis in the corner with Michael, who came into town yesterday and is lodging in Koushiro's flat.

Yes, put them together. Let them bond.

'Course, for all I know, the two foreigners could end up plotting up a way to steal all our women right out from under our noses, but now I'm just getting paranoid.

"Don't look so stiff, Yamato," Willis says cheerily. He offers his hand and I shake it with utmost suspicion. "My heartfelt congratulations to you both," he goes on, winking at Hikari.

She smiles in response. "You're sweet. Was your flight okay?"

Willis shrugs, taking his bags again as we head on out to hail a cab back to Takeru's apartment, where he'll be staying, where I can keep watch over his every move.

"It was the same. I'm too used to these transoceanic flights to even notice them anymore. Although no matter how many times I make the trip, I swear they get longer and longer…."

"Well," Hikari sighs, "I know you need your rest and everything and you certainly deserve it, but I have unfortunate news."

I don't understand why she's trying to be so gentle about it, so I blurt out,

"Rehearsal dinner's tonight. And it's mandatory."

"'Mandatory'?" Willis repeats, blond brow quirked in amusement. "What is this, high school?"

Hikari giggles.

"It seems the closer we get, the more obsessive Miyako becomes."

"One more day," I mutter. "And then freedom."

"Aw, now don't be like that. Weddings are a lot of fun," Willis says.

I shake my head.

"I don't think Miyako's allowing any kind of 'fun' at hers…."

And the two of them laugh, dismissing my comment as silliness.

But I'm not joking.

According to Sora, Miyako has so organized her dream wedding that no detail has been overlooked, not one hasn't been pinpointed to the fullest of its possibilities. She's even issued itineraries for the girls outlining their bridesmaids' duties (or maid-of-honor duties in Hikari's case), and for Daisuke, who will be Ken's best man, and Iori and Takeru, who are the groomsmen.

At least, as Hikari mentioned earlier to me on the way to the airport in a desperate attempt to stay positive, Miyako isn't making us dress up for the rehearsal dinner at a local restaurant tonight. (Although I have reason to suspect that that was all Ken's doing—he probably had to talk/beg her out of it.)

Anyway, I try to look at tonight's dinner as an opportunity to not think about the fact that Willis is back. I remind myself that he can't stay here forever, and then recall Takeru's common sense logic in which my brother pointed out that Hikari chose me over the American for a reason and I shouldn't stress.

Unfortunately, anyone who knows me knows it's my nature to stress about things I can't control. (Takeru will vouch for me on that, but I'm honestly trying to get better about the overprotective-ness thing, really I am.)

It's just that we've only just started, we've barely gotten anywhere in our relationship.

I don't want to screw this one up.

I really, _really_ don't want to screw this one up.

I want to make it last as long as I can.

And after seeing what's happened to everyone else, what's happened in my own past relationships, I can't help but be a little scared about what could happen.

Still, I realize it's stupid to live on fears like that. It's not worth it.

But Hikari most definitely is.

Upon realizing this, I lean over while sitting next to her in the cab and kiss her gently on the lips.

"What's that for?" she asked, surprised.

"No good reason," I reply, hoping she'll read between the lines and find my apology for acting so immaturely jealous about this whole thing.

Luckily, Hikari's fantastic about reading between lines. She smiles at me knowingly and we say our goodbyes as the cab drops her off at her apartment before taking us to Takeru's.

"You two," Willis jokes, laughing. "Who'da thought, huh?"

I run a hand through my hair, shrugging, sheepish. Certainly not me, but I'm not about to admit that to _him_.

"So how'd your families take it?"

"I don't think my dad was listening when I told him, but her parents are just fine with it."

Willis nods. "Yeah. Mr. and Mrs. Yagami are great."

"'Course they are, after having to put up with Taichi for eighteen years and the sporadically ever since then."

He chuckles, "True, true…."

We reach the apartment and take the elevator up. At the door to greet us is Iori, who's just a little bit stressed. He greets Willis warmly, though, then nods a head at Takeru's door. Curious, I excuse myself and limp over, pushing his door open.

Takeru's splayed on his back across the width of his bed, arms and legs dangling.

"Hey, look, all the blood rushing to my head's making my face turn purple…" he mutters half-heartedly.

I roll my eyes.

"Get up and get dressed. You don't want to be late to any of Miyako's parties, you know that."

He shakes his head.

"No."

"What do you mean, 'no'?" I demand, annoyed now.

"Daisuke's going to be there," he answers after a long moment, voice low.

It's the first time he's referred to what happened between them since he got back from France. At least, it's the first time he's mentioned it to me. Then again, it's not like I've been hanging around waiting for hi to talk and being readily available in case he decides to open up. Mostly I've been with Hikari or dealing with band issues.

Realizing this, I'm immediately overwhelmed in a wave of guilt.

"Well," I say, hesitating, "just…don't sit next to him."

He raises his chin a little to stare at me in total disbelief.

"That's the best you can come up with?"

He's not making me feel any better.

I limp over and sit down on the edge of his bed, laying my crutches on the ground and sitting back comfortably. "Look, it's not like you can do anything about it. You know you can't push anything on him, on either of them. But that doesn't mean you should just stop doing everything that might put you two within a ten foot radius. That's not fair to the rest of us. This is Ken and Miyako's day."

"I know…," he sighs. "But no matter how desperate I want all this to be over, Yamato, I'm not ready to face him. I can't."

"I'll be there," I promise finally.

He glances at me, frowning.

"I will," I affirm. "You're my brother, Takeru. Love it or hate it, _this_ time I'm being protective and you don't have much of a choice."

He smiles a little.

"Willis back?"

I glare, all the optimism evaporating.

Takeru sits up and laughs at me. "You're hopeless."

"I can't help it."

"You do realize that if you get any more paranoid, you're just going to lose her, don't you?"

"Thanks for the support."

He smirks, pulling off his polo to change into a nice dress shirt. "It's nothing personal, Yamato. But Hikari's the kind of girl who needs an anchor, and she wants you to be it. You can't if you're going to act like this every time an old flame of hers shows up at the door. She doesn't give you a hard time over Mimi, does she?"

"No," I agree reluctantly. "But that's different."

"It's about as different as an apple from an apple," he remarks.

I make a face, wanting to be irritated with his all-knowingness when I'm normally supposed to be the rational one but finding it very difficult to deny anything he's said so far.

I really hate it when I'm not right.

"You're friendship with Mimi is just as important as Hikari's friendship with Willis. Or me. Or—,"

"Okay, you don't have to go through The List," I shudder.

"Sorry," he says, grinning. "But you get my point, don't you? Both of you have been in committed relationships in the past that ultimately didn't work out. So you're going to try again, but this time with each other. Maybe from your mutual past experiences you'll be able to build something new and different and who knows where that could take you? But at the same time, you have to realize that those past experiences aren't going to go away just because you're together now. They're what made you both who are now. You shouldn't want to throw all that away."

I'm astonished.

"How the hell did you come up with all of that on such short notice?"

He shrugs.

"I'm a writer."

I shake my head. "Incredible…."

"You really think so? About my writing, the way I write, I mean," he adds for clarification.

"Sure," I say, thinking it ought to be obvious. "You're the youngest staff assistant editor in your newspaper's history, Takeru. That definitely says something, I should think."

"I've been thinking about breaking away from the newspaper, actually."

I sit up straight.

"What?"

"Well, obviously not right away," he goes on, fixing his tie, "but while I was in France with Mom, I realized that the kind of work she's doing would be kind of fun, you know? Writing for the sake of writing. Nothing else."

I raise an eyebrow, curious. "So what are you saying?"

"I think I want to write, Yamato. I want to be a novelist."

"Well, that's great!" I exclaim, relieved to know he actually has a plan for after he quits his job, fearing for a minute there that he might turn into another Taichi.

"Really?" he asks, worried.

"Of course, it is. You'd be great at that. Definitely."

"Children's books," he adds after a moment. "I think I'd like to start there. Then we'll see."

I get up again, following him out the door. "Wherever you start, Takeru, you'll be fantastic, I know it. Just as long as you keep going."

He smiles, grateful, and then we gather the rest of our group together to head on over to the restaurant. It's now Willis, Iori, Takeru, and me. Taichi had said earlier he'd be coming with Koushiro, since the two of them spent the day trying to find Taichi a job. Not that it should be all that difficult. He was the CEO of whatever his company was called. I just think he's being lazy and uncooperative; Koushiro's even told me that Taichi's turned down a lot of offers recently. I haven't had a chance to find out why he's doing that, but I decide not to bother him with it until after the wedding.

A lot of things aren't going to happen in each of our individual lives until after this wedding's done and over with, I've realized.

And the sooner the better.

We get to the restaurant early, but not early enough to miss Miyako's fifty-millionth breakdown. I don't know what happened, but all I know is that I have about two seconds to greet Hikari before she dashes away into the restrooms where all the girls are comforting the bride. I wanted to tell Hikari about what Takeru told me, wanting to apologize for everything and explain why I'm worrying so much and why I'm being so difficult, but obviously that'll have to wait.

Instead, Iori and Willis start speaking to Jyou while we wait for Taichi, Willis, and Koushiro to show up.

About a half hour later, just a few minutes before the appetizers are going to be served, the girls are still in the bathroom and we men are bored out of our minds. Jyou's a little anxious.

"They should be here by now," he remarks, referring to The Missing Three.

"I'm sure they're on their way," Iori reassures, though I can tell by the crease in his brow that he's concerned as well.

"Sorry I'm late!" a new voice interrupts just in time. We all look up to see Daisuke rushing towards us. He points to the kitchen of the restaurant. "I came in through the back."

"And you did that because…?" I ask, confused.

He bites his lip.

"You better come find out for yourself…."

"Oh, no," Willis whistles lowly.

"Sh!" Daisuke gestures. "Don't let the girls find out!"

"What now?" Jyou moans, exasperated.

"Let's go," Iori says, already on his way. Willis decides to stand guard and Daisuke offers to stay with him and catch up for old times' sake. We all agree, but when I see Takeru lingering behind as Willis excuses himself to the bathroom for a minute, I lag behind as well, extremely wary.

Daisuke walks to the door to the private restaurant room, watching the windows.

I glance at Takeru warningly, but he refuses to look at me.

"Daisuke," he calls instead, quietly.

He doesn't respond.

"Daisuke, please," Takeru says again.

"Stop," comes the answer, spoken tiredly.

"Can we please talk?" my brother persists.

Daisuke turns around, staring with his fists clenched.

Takeru faces him nervously, earnestly.

I bite my lip, wary, glancing between the two of them.

Slowly, Daisuke lowers his head, staring down at his shoes. "Not now."

That only frustrates Takeru all the more. He blurts out, "Then when, Daisuke? When? Because I don't want to just stop here. I don't want this. I want to fix this, I want to change this. But it won't work unless you talk to me, _please_."

Finally, Daisuke shrugs.

"I don't know if I can. I don't know if I want to. I don't know if it's a right time yet."

"Then tell me when it is, please. That's all I want," Takeru insists. "That's it."

He takes a deep breath.

"All right."

And that would be my cue to get the hell out.

I slip away into the kitchen, crossing my fingers for both of their sakes. I realize it's going to take a long, long time, but at least they're making an effort, even despite how hard it's going to be for them. I know I wouldn't want to be in either place, but then again, it's frankly incredibly they're willing to get where they are now, willing to at least attempt to talk.

All this confidence just melts away when I get into the kitchen and see the waiters and chefs throwing us nasty looks for interrupting their work. But they keep their distance, apparently after Jyou had talked to them and explained what happened. And now they tell me.

"Fucking hell," I groan, shutting my eyes.

"I've been trying to call his cell phone for hours and nothing," Koushiro adds, panicked. "I cannot believe this. I can't believe _Ken's_ doing this. It's not even like him!"

"Well, obviously we all know who is like," I mutter. "When I get my hands on Taichi…."

"We don't know if it's his fault or if he had anything to do with it," Iori defends. "All we know is that he and Michael were the last ones to talk to Ken before he went AWOL."

"Oh, God, when Miyako finds out!" Jyou shakes his head, genuinely scared.

"The girls can't find out," I say determinedly. "We are going to find Ken and bring him here before the dinner starts."

"Call Taichi," Iori suggests.

"He still hasn't gotten a new cell phone," Koushiro grumbles. "Believe me, I've tried."

"Dammit," I murmur, thinking.

We stand in nervous silence, trying to think of how to resolve this huge crisis before the women get a chance to find out what's happened.

"Okay, so when Taichi and Michael get here—," I say, ready to relay my plan, but then I stop, realizing something horrendously awful.

Jyou looks at me and I know he's thinking the same thing.

"So by the way…where _is_ Taichi?" Jyou suddenly asks.

"Where is Michael?" Iori notices, looking around.

We all four exchange horrified gazes.

"Oh my God—Tai finally killed him!" Koushiro cries, overwhelmed by all the crazy things that have passed within just the last few hours, but before we can notify the proper authorities, we hear muffled noises coming from behind the back door.

Minutes later, the kitchen door opens and in stumble an incredibly intoxicated Taichi and Michael.

They're laughing about something that probably wouldn't be all that funny if they were sober, but they're clearly too busy joking and holding each other up to pay attention to alcohol blood levels.

"—and did you see—?"

"—I couldn't believe they—!"

"—I know, it's just—,"

"—exactly!"

And they burst into laughter again. With no where else to go since we're blocking the path, they collapse slowly to the kitchen floor. Michael recovers first, hiccupping, holding his stomach as though he's laughing so hard it's hurting him. He looks up into our blank faces.

"Oops…."

"What…?" Taichi gasps between giggles.

Koushiro, who's about to have a breakdown himself, desperately asks, "Have either of you seen Ken?"

Michael hiccups again.

"Um…."

"Did we—?"

"Was that—?"

"I don't think—?"

"Yeah, me neither, but—,"

"Well, obviously…," Taichi sighs. He sits up, breathing deeply. "I think we left him at the bar."

"The _what_?" I explode.

"What the hell is he doing at a bar now?" Jyou hisses.

Iori's already put the pieces together. "What did you two do?" he demands, pointing an accusing finger at Taichi.

Michael hiccups yet again.

"He said to go on ahead."

"This is _his_ rehearsal dinner!" Jyou cries, panicking.

The blond's eyes widen. "Oops…."

"Aw, it doesn't matter," Taichi slurs, trying to get up. "Marriage isn't…what it's cracked up to be, am I right?"

Michael waves a fist as though he's mistaken the kitchen gathering for a bachelor rally.

"You are right, sir!"

"Who the fuck needs commitment when it's only going to come back and bite you in the ass? Love is bulllshit, am I ri—?"

"Taichi," I interrupt calmly. He looks up at me with watery, dazed brown eyes. "I'm sorry."

"About wha—?"

Before he can finish (assuming his slurred alcoholic speech would even finish sentences), I take my crutch and smack the end of it into the side of his head. He's passed out before he even hits the floor.

Michael stares at his unconscious form.

"Oops…."

"Well, now that he can't endanger himself with his own stupidity anymore," I say, settling myself back into my crutches, "I think we should go find Ken and reverse the damage that's been done."

"Agreed," Koushiro mutters, gesturing to the door.

"I'll stay with them," Iori volunteers grimly.

"Thanks, Iori."

"And one more thing," I remember. Iori looks at me, waiting. I frown. "Distract the girls, will you?"

The young man winces.

"Easier said than done."

* * *


	20. Chapter 20: Taichi

**Done That**

* * *

Women, fame, and money. Things normal guys would enjoy. But Taichi, Takeru, Jyou and Yamato, four frustrated, desperate, clueless, and indecisive young men, are just about ready to throw in the chips. AU Sequel to 'Been There.' 

**Disclaimer**: I don't own.

* * *

How the hell we finally managed to get to this point, I have absolutely no earthly idea. 

I don't even know we had to even _get_ to any kind of point.

I was so totally wasted last night I barely remember anything—well, hardly anything outside of Yamato knocking me out with his crutch. Even handicapped, that man's a danger to society.

Anyway, back to me:

I don't really remember much of what happened either before or after I passed out. I do vaguely recall at one point through the many, many rounds of alcoholic beverages thinking that Michael was a pretty decent guy once he got a couple liters of liquid drugs in his system. He blabbers more when intoxicated than Takeru does, and Takeru is a great drinking buddy because of that very fact (you can't even imagine the stuff that comes out of his mouth; let's just say he doesn't hold his liquor very well).

I can usually keep my cool when I do drink, but I sincerely doubt I kept anything to myself last night. I assume this, naturally, because this morning I woke up with The Massive Hangover From Hell and now here just about an hour before the wedding Michael keeps looking at me from across the lobby of the hotel where the ceremony is taking place and making sympathetic gestures towards Mimi's parents, who are lingering in the back of the room with a few of the other guests. Having absolutely no idea what or how much I'd confessed to him last night, knowing it can't have been very good if it involves her parents, and dreading the possibility that the blond might actually approach them with tales from my big mouth, I've since then made it a point to avoid eye contact.

Of course, my endeavors to avoid him have only ended in my being forced to have conversation with every other soul in the lobby.

These people—no offense—are just plain _boring_.

Worst of all, my friends are mostly running around dealing with other things and don't have time to help me out.

The girls are God-knows-where, and Iori and Daisuke are helping Ken get ready. Takeru's running last-minute errands, Willis is acting as substitute wedding photographer, Jyou's bickering with the wedding planner, Michael's clueless as usual, and Yamato seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth.

I am all alone.

And it doesn't help that Mimi's father keeps glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.

I inch my way towards the door, getting more and more nervous every time I catch him watching me, wondering exactly what she'd told them about our break-up. Just as I being to seriously fear for my life, in limps my best friend, dressed up in an suit with the dress shirt still not tucked. _Somebody_ woke up late.

I launch myself at him, at this point ready to forgive him for the huge bruise he'd left on the left side of my face (and I know the minute my parents arrive and my mother sees that injury, I'll never be free of her protective grasp the rest of the day), thankful he's even arrived to save me from having to pretend to care about this whole mess at all.

But I should have known he wouldn't express any concern for me:

"How's Ken?" is the first thing out of his mouth.

"Will you relax?" I snap, annoyed. "He's fine. Being watched like a hawk, yes, but fine."

Yamato gives me a dirty look.

"I blame you for last night, you know."

"I never told him to take me seriously," I mutter.

"You didn't have to," he points out. "You should have known. He's in a vulnerable state, Taichi. Pre-wedding jitters lead to all kinds of doubts, and sharing your recently declared opinions on long-term relationships was _not_ your smartest move."

"I get it, all right?" I say. "I made a mistake, I know. I already apologized to him _twice_."

"How noble of you," he drawls.

Now it's my turn to dispense the dirty looks.

"You're in a cranky mood," he notes.

"You'd be too if you had the headache I have—and don't say it!"

"I told you so," he smirks in a sing-song voice anyway.

I glare.

"Keep this up, Ishida, and I'll revoke my blessings on you and my sister."

"You can't revoke blessings."

"_I_ can do anything."

"But, seriously, how is Ken?" he repeats, humor lost.

I sigh. "Okay, as far as I can tell. Nobody's told Miyako what happened last night, for obvious reasons. We're all just lucky you managed to talk him into coming to the dinner before she could notice. Thankfully, women carry on for hours when they're in the middle of making a scene."

"And no thanks to you," he adds.

"We went over that already, remember?"

"I will rub it in until the day you die."

"I did not tell him not to get married."

"Well, what _did_ you tell him? Because whatever it was, it almost made him skip the rehearsal dinner."

"It doesn't matter," I point out, firm in my defense. "Ken would never run out on his own wedding. They love each other, Yamato. Nothing anyone could say could change that. All he needed was some quiet time and some space to think things out. Why do you think he came back with you to the restaurant so willingly? Because he'd been sitting there watching Michael and I have way too much fun with the stupidest drinking games and thinking about his whole future for so long that he was finally ready to face it by the time you got there."

Yamato's staring at me with a funny look when I'm done with my speech.

"What?"

"You're a scary intellectual."

I kick one crutch, almost causing him to pitch forward if not for his quick reflexes.

He laughs aloud, leaning into his crutches. "That hangover's a real nasty, isn't it?"

"You have _no_ idea," I mutter, wincing.

"So where is Hikari?" he asks.

I wince, not out of pain but out of reflex. One of these days, I'll get used to it. But not today.

"I don't know," I answer nonchalantly, hoping to change the subject.

He frowns.

"Probably helping Miyako, right?" He nods as though to answer himself, then adds, "She wrote a beautiful toast, you know. She showed it to me a few days ago."

"Yeah?"

He nods again. "It's really nice. Wait 'til you hear it."

"Well, at the rate things are going, I think it's safe to say the next ice age will settle in before the reception starts…."

"We're on schedule exactly," Yamato points out, indicating the clock on the center wall of the lobby.

I roll my eyes. "Then why does it feel like it's taking forever to start? We're not even allowed to sit down yet."

"Don't be so impatient. We've all waited a long day for this. We can wait another hour."

I groan.

"A whole other _hour_?"

"Come on, let's go find the others."

I drag my feet, unwillingly following him as we slip past the doors and into the currently empty wedding hall. The entire room's been decorated in seas of white and green lace, ribbons, and flowers, with roses as the constant theme and a white water lilies closer to where the couple is actually getting married. The lights have been dimmed just slightly and the chairs have been set out in neat little rows with black iron candle holders supporting lit candles lining the sides of the center aisle.

I stop for a minute, taking it all in.

"Wow," I manage to say after a moment, marveling at the simple beauty of it all.

"Mimi and Sora spent the night on the flower arrangements," he tells me, smiling. "It's incredible, isn't it?"

I don't say anything and he notices.

"So _that's_ why you're acting like an ass," he suddenly realizes.

"I am not," I defend weakly.

"Taichi, I know you're still dealing with what's happened between you two, but at least try and not show it, okay? Especially in front of Ken."

I make a face. "Very funny."

"I think I'm going to go check on him…."

"I said I was sorry!"

He just waves a hand dismissively at me and I sigh, frustrated, shoving my hands in my pockets, watching moodily as he walks off into an adjoining room where they must be holding the groom. On the other side of the hall is another closed door where the bride's parlor is, and I can hear faint murmuring and laughter coming from behind the door.

I stand there in the center hallway, feeling incredibly out of place, but still unable to leave. Not like there's anywhere for me to go.

So I sit down in one of the chairs, staring blankly at the decorated altar in the front of the room.

I haven't realized it until now, but getting married must take a lot of guts.

You have no guarantee of how it's going to end or when it's even going to end, just that strong faith and hope of making it last as long as your love does. But then, how do you know your love is the kind that's supposed to last? How can you be sure?

And as much of a risk-taker I am, I quite honestly can't fathom taking a risk like that.

I'm too scared of getting hurt.

Or hurting her.

At least I know she's thinking the same thing, or else we wouldn't have realized what we had to do.

I just wonder if we even _had_ to do anything.

I'm sure thousands of other couples have faced the same thing. No doubt even Ken and Miyako had to decide if being together would be worth the cost of the commitment. They just came up with a different answer than Mimi and I did.

I just want to know _how_.

But apparently, I'm not allowed to speak to Ken for fearing of ruining the wedding.

I really didn't do what you think I did, by the way. Everyone else is just blowing things way out of proportion. I just asked him (or attempted to ask something like it; I _was_ drunk, after all) how he knew he was strong enough to be strong enough for the both of them. How do you _know_ something like that?

A door opens then, startling me out of my thoughts, and I look up to see Sora and Hikari stepping out of the bride's parlor. I straighten, offering a tiny smile. They haven't quite forgiven me for coming to their best friend's rehearsal dinner in the state in which I arrived, but I'm hoping the excitement of today might have changed their minds. I've clearly guess right, for the next thing I know, the two are grinning at me, waving.

Hikari comes over to kiss my cheek.

"How are you feeling?" she asks.

"Fine," I say, not wanting to talk about last night. "You look beautiful."

She smiles again, pleased, looking down at herself. The bridesmaid gowns are still purple, but Sora managed to convince Miyako to make it a lighter shade. It's a different style for each bridesmaid: Hikari's has thin shoulder straps and Sora's strap only wraps around one shoulder. I haven't seen Mimi yet, but I saw the strapless dress on the hanger when Hikari came by one night to have dinner with Yamato and showed it to us. Sora also hand embroidered them in silver to match the white of the hall's decorations, a very nice touch in my opinion.

Hikari spins around to show me. "What do you think? Sora should make her own line, shouldn't she?"

"I'd wear it," I say, winking, and Sora sticks out her tongue at me.

"Have you seen Daisuke and the others? We have to start seating soon," she says.

I shake my head.

"I've been hanging out in the lobby all day. Takeru mentioned something about Daisuke's prepping Ken for the task at hand when he passed me, though."

"Don't make it sound so economic and legal, Taichi," Sora scolds. "It's supposed to be romantic."

I smirk. "Right."

"Taichi," Hikari begins warningly, but I don't want to hear it.

"I'm not going to do anything," I promise.

"You'd better not," Sora warns. "Let's just get through this as painlessly as possible."

"Hey, everyone," Takeru's voice calls from the entrance to the wedding hall. He ducks past the lingering guests in the lobby and jogs towards us, trying to fix his bowtie at the same. He's obviously having difficulty, and finally Hikari slaps his fumbling fingers away and fixes it herself. "Thanks," he says, a little breathless from running around all morning. "Okay, so everything's set for the send-off and the banquet hall's good to go for the reception. I settled things with the—,"

"Will you relax?" Sora interrupts, hands on her hips, smiling. "Honestly, Takeru, you haven't sat still since you got here, and you were one of the earliest to arrive, too. Just rest for a bit. The seating's about to start and then you'll need to be at the alter with Ken and Iori."

"And Daisuke," he corrects automatically. I see the wistful uneasiness in his tone and instantly realize why he's kept himself busy for so long. If he wasn't, he'd have to be in the groom's room with Daisuke. And since this is a wedding, the irony of it all is more than suffocating.

I glance at him sympathetically. According to Yamato, the two of them managed to have a civil conversation about things for a few minutes before the dinner, although obviously neither one of them's willing to talk about it to any one of us, so we don't know what was said (and not knowing is driving Yamato up the wall, much to my amusement). Still, Daisuke did wish Takeru a good morning when the writer first arrived at the hotel earlier today, and even Sumiko, who's helping Jyou with the guest list in the lobby, stopped to smile hello at him. I know that's a small, tiny step to take, and the three clearly have more hurdles to climb before anything can get back to "normal", but you have to admit they're doing the best they can in better ways than I probably could if I were in their shoes.

Nevertheless, I can understand why they're being just a little detached at this moment. There are certain things that should most definitely be put off until after a wedding.

Like facing an ex-girlfriend you know you're not over.

But I was never very quick about these kinds of things, and I'm not going to start now.

So when Mimi walks out of the bride's parlor next, she stops where she stands, very still, and I don't move either, looking back at her uncomfortably.

Takeru coughs. "You know, maybe I _wil­­­­l_ go see Ken…."

"I'll come with you," Hikari volunteers. "Miyako has some quick things to tell him and you know her rule about their not being able to see each other until the ceremony starts."

"Right," Takeru nods, offering his arm. She takes it, glances back at me, hesitates, and then finally marches off, most likely regretting leaving me alone with Mimi and Sora.

Sora, for her part, frowns as though annoyed.

"Come here," she snaps, grasping me by the wrist and yanking me towards her so hard I almost trip and fall on top of her. But I just barely manage to keep my balance, protesting all the way as she drags me over to the bride's side of the room.

Mimi still hasn't moved, uncertainty spread across her confused face. She blanches when Sora closes stomping towards her, stepping back in fear. But Sora pays her no heed, grabbing her elbow as well and throwing us both into the bride's parlor.

"You two are going to figure this out _before_ the wedding starts and there will be absolutely _no_ kind of tension at the ceremony and you are _not_ going to ruin things for the rest of us because of your unresolved issues, is that clear?" she demands, irritated.

"Yes, ma'am," I mutter sarcastically.

She shoots me a look so evil I feel chills run through my body. _Damn_.

"You have _exactly_ twenty-six minutes," she warns before slamming the door shut.

Mimi sighs, shoulders slumping. Without saying anything to me, she goes over to a close door to our left and raps her knuckles on it.

"Miyako, love, I'll be right back in a few minutes, okay?"

"That's fine, Mi," the bride responds cheerily. "Could you send Sora in?"

"Sure," and Mimi goes back to the door to the parlor and pokes her head outside. I hear Sora screeching and then Mimi shouting back an explanation, and finally a flushed and frustrated Sora rushes back inside, shuts the door, and disappears into the room with Miyako (but not before glaring at me in yet another warning, tapping her wrist to symbolize the passing of time, I guess).

"This way," Mimi tells me suddenly, gesturing to the small bathroom inside the parlor. She closes the door behind me, turning around to lean against it. Fidgeting, she lingers there for a moment, and then moves towards the sink, checking herself in the mirror.

"You look nice," I stammer as casually as possibly.

And that gets her smirking. "You don't have to try so hard, Taichi. We're still friends, aren't we?"

I shake my head, dropping my gaze.

"I've never wanted to be just friends with you. You can't expect me to want that now, to change now."

She stops, staring at my reflection in the mirror, surprised. She opens her mouth to say something, but I decide it would be a bad idea to open that door again.

"Never mind, forget it," I interrupt.

She studies me closely. Then she turns around, her back towards the sink now. Her eyes brighten and I'm curious, wondering what she's thinking.

"I want to show you something," she says softly.

I cross my arms over my chest, leaning against the wall by the door, waiting.

She gathers the skirt of her bridesmaid gown in her hands and pulls it up. I'm confused, watching her expose her left leg little by little, until she stops and points to a spot on the inside of her upper right thigh. That's when I see it: a small, beautifully-detailed pink rose, tattooed to her pale skin.

My eyes widen.

"You—?"

She nods shyly, smiling a little. Then she laughs, "I had to have it somewhere my parents would never see. You know how they can get."

I don't say anything. And then I ask, even more quietly than she had spoken, remembering my own experience in London, "Did it hurt?"

"A little," she admits. "But I didn't faint this time." She smiles weakly and I return it just as uncertainly, fidgeting where I stand. She pauses, "Do you like it?"

I push myself off the wall and walk over to her. Very gently, I let my fingers caress the design, lightly, as though I'm trying to convince myself its real. (It's _definitely_ real.) She breathes in sharply at my touch, stiffening. I draw my hand away and she relaxes, lowering her skirt again.

"Yeah," I say, leaning in to touch my forehead to hers, "I do."

"Taichi…" she breathes.

I turn my face to nudge her cheek with my nose, remembering the way her skin feels against mine. I really just want to hold her, but I really can't, knowing that if I do I'm just going to fall back into this all over again, fall for her all over again. Thing is, I never fell out, fell away. But I can't afford to go through this a third time. Because a part of me—the realistic part, my head—tells me she's right and my father's right and the world's right. Doesn't matter what my heart wants, because truth is, it's going to get hurt again. And again. And again.

So why put myself through that?

It's irrational. It's stupid. It's love.

But it's not always worth it, not when all you end up doing is hurting each other, even when that's the last thing you want to do.

I don't know how Ken and Miyako came up with their answer, or even how Daisuke and Sumiko renewed theirs, or how Yamato and Hikari made theirs. I just know what Mimi and I decided. Nothing's ever picture-perfect.

_But_, a little voice in my head wonders, _is that a good enough reason to end what you had with her?_

No.

It isn't.

So why did we?

"We really…should…go back…" she whispers, her breath tickling my neck.

"I know…."

She shifts to press her body into me as I lean into her, welcoming the way I lightly brush my lips over her forehead, her eyebrow, the side of her face. She grips the edge of the sink's counter behind her, clutching it tightly. And I'm trying desperately to fight the urge to kiss her mouth, to keep from wanting to hold her face in my hands, vaguely aware of the rational half of my mind demanding I stop before I make a complete fool of myself.

"They're going to be looking for us," she says now.

"Yeah," I agree, moving my lips down her throat.

She inhales deeply, turning to bury her face into my neck, her lips forming the words against my skin. "God, I missed you…."

"Still do," I confess. "Always do."

"Kiss me," she says.

I tilt my head down so we're face-to-face, "Can't…."

"Kiss me."

"Can't."

"Taichi, kiss me."

"Mimi, I can't."

And I pull back.

She opens her eyes, dazed.

"I really hate what you do to me," I mutter, more to myself than her, though I know she hears it. I shake my head, stepping back.

She doesn't say anything, dropping her gaze, her face flushed.

"You know what I don't get?" I ask after a moment. She doesn't reply, looking at me. "How did we get here, when Ken and Miyako got there?"

She shrugs helplessly.

"I don't know."

"We must not be as strong."

"No, Taichi. I'm not as strong," she corrects quietly. "And I don't want to let you down."

"You can't. That's impossible. Don't you see that?"

"You're not listening to me," she interrupts. "I'm not ready to risk loving you and losing you—,"

"You won't," I insist. "Mimi, I am not going anywhere. You're worrying yourself about things that aren't going to happen, don't you see?"

"But they could!"

"Not if we don't let them," I shake my head.

Mimi straightens, frustrated. "You say all these things and make it sound so easy, Tai, but it's not."

"I _never_ said it would be easy. I know it's not going to be. But being afraid to even try—that's not a good enough reason for me. I'm not giving up on this because of something like _that_."

"You don't understand—,"

"Then help me understand—,"

"I can't!"

"Mimi—,"

"I am not like you, Tai," she snaps. "I hate taking risks. I hate not knowing the ending. I hate guessing, I hate playing these kinds of games, I just hate everything—,"

"But you're in love with me," I interrupt, stepping just a little closer. She leans back and I stop moving, staring at her seriously. "You still are and I'll always be in love with you. I can't help it. I can't change it. I can keep trying to reason myself out of it, but it won't work; it never works. And deep down inside, Mimi, you can't reason yourself out of it either, and _that's_ what scares you."

She stares at me, chest rising and falling with every deep, shaky breath.

I lower my voice, "There are no reasons, Mimi. There's only us."

And she covers her face with her hands, shaking her head slowly.

I reach out and touch her arm, but she doesn't respond, doesn't push me away or tell me to come closer. So I stroke her arm gently, slowly, trying to understand, hating that she can be dealing with something as frightening as this when I can't help her or save her or protect her. That's all I've ever wanted to do. But now it's up to her.

She sighs, bottom lip quivering. "I'm stupid," she whispers, "and I probably always will be. I don't know what's good for me, and I'm selfish and arrogant and I get too wrapped up in me too many times. I do things without thinking; I tell people exactly what I really feel but I don't always do it right."

I stare at her, realizing what she's doing and too stunned to respond at all.

Then I blink in surprise when she laughs, her voice breaking, "God, it was such a long speech I can barely remember."

She sniffs, rubbing at her eyes, taking a deep breath. I don't say anything, watching her numbly. She goes on, "I want so much for you to understand me, to see past what everyone else thinks they see, but I'm scared you'll be disappointed by what you see because I'm disappointed by the things I see about me everyday."

She sniffles again, thinking. "The thought of losing you or hurting you in any way just kills me inside, because I can't think of one reason for you to forgive me after what I constantly put you through. I don't think the world is right when they tell us we're too different, but I'm scared of trying to defy them, because you're right—deep down I can't help but be so afraid of all of this. I've _never_ felt like this, never had this happen to me before, and I'm just so amazed and nervous and overwhelmed and confused…. I can't handle failing at this because I care about you too much, and I shouldn't be so scared to try, I know I shouldn't, and I feel like such a coward for trying so hard to reason my way out of this with excuses that are all based on this heartbreaking fear, but I'm not as strong as you think I am, and I don't know if I'll ever be as strong as you are, as I want to be for you. But I can't avoid you, Taichi. I can't…."

I hold her face, tilting her chin up so I can look at her properly. Her eyes are still squeezed shut.

"I don't want it to end, I'm so scared of letting it end," she cries, "and I tried to protect myself by stopping it all before it could get out of my control, and it's not working. And that scares me even more, because it only proves that this is too real for me to ignore. And I don't even want to ignore it. But I just can't see myself without you anymore. Everything that's happened, everything from when we first met to the baby and losing the baby and then running off to London and coming back here—it was all so much and I couldn't handle it by myself anymore. That's why I did this, why I broke down like that. I don't want to lose you like I lost the baby, like I lost every other good thing that's happened to me. _Except_ you. You were always there, but I knew that one of these days I was going to lose you, too. I didn't want to face that. I could have faced anything but that. So I tried to let you go first. I tried so _hard_. And _this_ is what happened. And I'm _really_ sorry, Taichi, I really am—I have no way of explaining this to you, that's all I can tell you right now. I can just say sorry a thousand times and even then it won't be enough—,"

I kiss her brow, closing my eyes. "You're wrong. You're always enough, Mimi. _Always_."

She cries even harder, burying her face in the collar of my suit, her arms wrapped tight around my neck. And even though I know my dress shirt is going to get soaked and icky and uncomfortable, I wouldn't trade this for the world.

"Mimi—," I start to whisper, when (of course) we are interrupted with the door banging open.

We spring apart, startled, as Sora declares loudly, "Time's up!" and grabs Mimi's wrist. "Everyone's seated! Let's go, let's go!"

It takes me just a minute to gather my senses, but when I call after Mimi, trying to chase her down, I'm instead met with her father as he throws himself in my path and grasps me by the shoulders. Fear or a completely different kind paralyzes me, but then Keisuke says the last thing I would have ever expected him to say:

"Take her back," he says lowly.

My mouth drops open but nothing comes out.

I can tell by the throbbing vein in his forehead that this admittance is taking a great amount of personal restraint.

He goes on, "She's not herself without you. I want my little girl back, Taichi. And if you truly are the man I've come to respect, then you'll be the one who's going to bring her back." He pauses. "But don't mistake me. I still don't like you. That will never change."

A small smile starts tugging at the corner of my mouth, but (once again) we're interrupted as the music begins to play and the wedding procession starts.

Keisuke claps me hard on the shoulder (much harder than necessary) and I rub it painfully on my way to my seat, slipping into the row where Jyou and Koushiro are seated. Both of them raise their eyebrows, silently inquiring about my tardiness, but I just shake my head.

The ceremony starts and I'm still lost, feeling rushed in all directions—my own thoughts, Mimi's confessions, her father's stern commands, my parent's wishes, my friends' exasperations…. I can't even focus on any one thing, and certainly not this wedding. Koushiro has to shove his elbow violently in my side to get me to stand up with them as the bridal march plays and Miyako enters on the arm of her father.

Everything passes by in a daze, but the one thing I do hear is s mall snippet of Ken's handwritten vows:

"…because with you, I'm stronger and weaker at the same time. But with you and for you, I'm willing to try and to learn and to change just to know you more…."

I sit up.

_Strong and weak._

It's not about being able to support each other. It's about learning to depend on each other, to grow and to stay the same; to lean on and to raise up.

We're not expected to be strong, to be determined, to be confident or victorious.

We're expected to be ourselves, and one day maybe more.

But only when we have each other.

Whether it's with friends, with family, or with lovers, _that's_ what it means. _This_ is what counts, what matters, what is most important in the end.

I'm sure the rest of the ceremony was very romantic, and I'm sure everyone sighed with satisfied pleasure as the couple joined hands for the first time as a married pair. But I'm not paying attention. The ceremony is another world away. All I can remember is her, standing so beautifully and proudly behind the bride, her curled hair cascading over her smooth, bare shoulders. All I can see is the sparkle of renewed hope in her wide, honey eyes, the way her head tilts ever so slightly to the left as she watches her friends fall in love forever, the sunlight that pools across her face and makes her glow.

"By the power vested in me," the minister continues, "I now pronounce you husband and wife." He smiles. "You may now kiss your bride."

And so I do.

Leaving Jyou and Koushiro confused in the chairs, I leave my seat and head straight up the aisle and to the front of the ceremony. Before anyone can really react or realize what I'm doing—before _I_ even realize what I'm doing—I reach out and take her roughly by arms. I kiss her hard, right there in front of the whole crowd, the whole world. And I know by the way she welcomes my kiss and returns it, the way her arms wrap around my neck and pull me close against her, that she's thinking the same thing I am, and neither of us have to say it aloud.

"Marry me," I say into her mouth.

She laughs. "Marry _me_," she whispers.

Someone coughs.

We freeze.

Very slowly, I open my eyes and turn my head to see the entire congregation staring at us, speechless.

She swears softly under her breath, wincing. I pull back, feeling my face redden in embarrassment and guilt, and wave a hand at the frowning minister.

"Continue," I say sheepishly.

He gives me a grumpy look before turning away. I try to return to my seat but she won't let go of my hand, pulling me back and leaning into me, clutching my fingers tightly as though to keep me from ever leaving again. So I grip her hand just as hard, not going anywhere, not losing this to anything or anyone.

This is it.

Been there, done that, the whole nine yards and then some—we've seen it all. I can pretty much guarantee you that we'll being seeing a _lot_ more, but somehow I can't exactly say I'm going to be always looking forward to it.

But I _am_ looking forward.

And I see her. I see us.

And it's fucking scary as hell.

Which is kinda exciting, if you ask me.

But then the ceremony finishes and we witness Ken and Miyako as they kiss, finally, uninterrupted this time and everyone stands to applaud and coo and whistle and cheer as the organ plays. Mimi leans forward to kiss Miyako's cheek and then Ken's, and the entire wedding party exchanges kisses and exclamations of utter glee, one giant swarm of people all hugging and laughing. If I hadn't been caught up in the moment myself, I'd say how incredibly cheesy it was (almost nauseatingly sappy, you gotta admit it), except all I can do is grin along with the rest of them, suddenly unable to keep my heart from beating wildly.

_Wait a minute…._

Did I just do what I think I did?

And, as if to answer me, you cruel, cruel God, I hear Mimi squealing and throwing her arms around Sora, "I'm getting married!" Sora, who's supposed to be sensible one, abandons everything she's ever thought about our brief estrangement and shrieks along with her best friend, and they both drag Hikari and Miyako into their group, jumping up and down.

Daisuke's jaw is touching the floor as the guys turn in unison to stare at me. Yamato's crutches are apparently the only thing supporting his shocked self, blue eyes round in disbelief. Jyou's frozen, stunned. Ken's grinning wickedly and Iori's laughing. Takeru's eyebrows have shot up to his forehead in surprise, Michael looks confused, and Koushiro is shaking his head sympathetically. And Willis has that _well-it's-about-fucking-time_ face as he rolls his eyes, his mouth pressed into a smile.

_Oh, God._

Here we go again—

* * *

**Epilogue** to follow shortly.

* * *


	21. Epilogue

**Done That**

* * *

Women, fame, and money. Things normal guys would enjoy. But Taichi, Takeru, Jyou and Yamato, four frustrated, desperate, clueless, and indecisive young men, are just about ready to throw in the chips. AU Sequel to 'Been There.' 

**Disclaimer**: I don't own.

**Author's Note**: Completed!

* * *

**Three Weeks Later**

* * *

Inside a popular French restaurant, several friends have gathered to hear something they never expected of one of their own: 

"A tattoo?" Miyako squeals, choking on her drink.

Mimi ducks her face behind a hand. "Can we please not talk about this?"

"No way!" Koushiro laughs. "Where? When? _Where_?"

She shakes her head.

Taichi is smirking, arm slung loosely across the back of her chair.

"Oh, come on," Sora whines. "Show us!"

"I can't," Mimi spits out finally.

"You can't?" Ken repeats, intrigued.

"No," she snaps, uncomfortable, "I can't." Then she pauses. "At least not in public."

There is silence.

"Hell, yeah!" Takeru laughs, clapping.

"This is _way_ too much information," Daisuke gags, gesturing to waiter to come back and top off his drink. Sumiko wrinkles her nose, giggling at his discomfort.

"I think it's sweet," Sora says. "Albeit disturbing…."

"Where _are_ those two?" Jyou, who's seated next to her, interrupts, changing the subject, checking the clock again.

"Hello? He _just_ got out of that stupid cast. What do you think is keeping them—?"

"Takeru, I swear to God I will put this butter knife right between your eyes!" Taichi threatens, waving said weapon at the young blond man, who makes a face.

"Didn't I hear you saying how you thought he was good for her the other day?" Mimi inquires of her fiancé.

"Good _for_ her or good _to_ her?" Daisuke asks mildly, ducking when Taichi aims a saltshaker at his head.

The waiter cries out in alarm, diving to catch the crystal container just in time. Mimi nearly dies of embarrassment, face as pink as the pretty dress she wears. She slaps Taichi in back of the head once the waiter has staggered away, dazed.

"Why do I put up with you?" she demands.

"He started it!"

"Children, _please_," Sora groans.

"Oh, I want children," Sumiko says, turning to Daisuke, who blanches.

"Well, I'm sure she doesn't mean right _now_," Mimi consoles.

"Oh, God," Jyou groans with Ken, and Taichi buries his face in his hand.

Mimi's eyes double in size.

"Did you tell them—?"

"They practically dragged it out of me," he defends, knowing he's going to get murdered after the dinner party and he's left alone with his fiancée.

She sinks low into her seat. "Oh my God."

"What? What?" Daisuke wants to know, glancing between everyone's grimacing faces.

"It's not worth repeating," Ken promises, to which Takeru grins wickedly, "Oh, yes, it is."

"Say one more word and _I'll_ take the butter knife to your throat," Mimi warns in a deadly tone.

The door opens and the long-anticipated couple stumbles inside, holding hands.

"Sorry we're late," Hikari apologizes, shaking off her coat and sitting next to Sora.

"Traffic was awful," Yamato explains, taking his place next to his girlfriend.

"I'll bet it was," Takeru mutters, winking.

Daisuke changes the subject at once as everyone gets settled and orders their respective meals. "So why are we all here again?"

"To celebrate," Mimi announces, sitting up.

She raises her glass of wine and motions for the others to do the same.

"To Iori, on completing his thesis!"

"_Finally_," Iori adds, turning a little red at all the attention.

"Congratulations," Jyou says.

"And to Jyou," Sora interrupts, smiling, "who's moving on to bigger and better things and has been offered a position at the World Health Organization in health missions to underprivileged countries."

Jyou sputters, "No one's supposed to know…."

"Why not?" Miyako demands. "That's great!"

"We're very proud of you," Hikari says.

"Wait—," Taichi lowers his glass, thinking, "if we're not supposed to know, then how come Sora knows?"

"Because I know everything, Taichi," Sora tries to dismiss, but when Jyou blushes even harder and Sora's ears turn pink, Mimi shrieks suddenly and covers her mouth her hand.

"Are you two—?" Daisuke stammers, jaw dropped.

"—seeing each other?" Sumiko finishes, eyes wide.

"No one's supposed to know," Jyou repeats.

Now, all the girls save a very embarrassed Sora shriek at the same time, ecstatic.

"This is so wonderful! I'm so happy for the both of you," Hikari gasps, grinning.

"Whoa…" is all her boyfriend can say, trying to process the information.

"Well, certainly, to Sora and Jyou," Koushiro says, motioning for the toast.

"To you, Koushiro," Mimi says, smiling. "For finally convincing Taichi to get a job and then helping him get one."

Koushiro smiles back, muttering something about reimbursement, to which Taichi playfully promises to give him his firstborn child. Which reminds Yamato of another toast he has planned to make.

"_And_ to Takeru, on getting an agent for his children's book he's going to publish," he declares.

"_Trying_ to publish," his brother corrects. "It's not as easy as you think."

"Whatever," Taichi says, waving a dismissive hand. "We all know it's going to happen."

"To Daisuke and Sumiko, and any future children," Iori adds.

"Oh, God," Daisuke groans, and Sumiko laughs, curling her fingers around her husband's reassuringly.

"You two will make great parents," Takeru remarks quietly, and for the first time, Daisuke smiles genuinely at him.

"At least we all know Sumiko will," Koushiro inserts dryly.

Everyone chuckles lightheartedly and Daisuke makes another face. He gestures with his own glass, grinning at the newlyweds across the table. "But let's not forget Ken and Miyako."

"Especially Ken," Taichi notes and the girls attack him with smacks to the head. He yelps, "Watch the hair!"

"How about to Mimi?" Sora suggests, smirking. "God knows, she's going to need it."

"And you, too, Tai," Yamato finally offers as an afterthought, teasing. "Might as well."

"You guys are _too_ kind," Taichi says sarcastically. Mimi grins, resting her head on his shoulder. He kisses her forehead, stroking her hair, then turns to everyone and says, "To all of us, for being there for each other and with each other, day in, day out."

"Hear, hear," Iori concludes, and every one else murmurs the same, drinking from the glasses.

While the others begin to talk to each other to fill the silence, Mimi turns her head and smiles into Taichi's ear, "Should we tell them?"

He wraps his arm low about her waist, scooting towards her in the booth.

"Nah," he smirks, glancing down at the ring on her left hand. "I want to live a little bit longer before Sora and Yamato burn us at the stake."

She giggles, her breath tickling his cheek.

"My parents will beat her to it," she whispers.

He dips his chin to nip the top of her ear lightly. "My mother will beat your parents to it."

"My father will beat _you_," she remarks, tilting her neck to kiss his, leaving a trail with her tongue as she traces her way up to his ear.

"It will be worth it," he promises.

"Remember that thought for when we finally do tell everyone."

"We don't _have_ to tell them anything."

She raises and eyebrow. "And what do you propose we do instead?"

He pauses, thinking, "Have a really, really, _really_ long engagement and hope everyone forgets about the wedding that already happened."

She laughs, settling into his chest as she leans back. "How about I take a few more months to finish my accounts in London, and then sort of stretch the settlement into the next year or so? That gives us a year to think of a good way to break the news."

"I like how you think," he kisses her on the top of her head.

She watches her friends chatting happily, obliviously around her and then sighs, admitting a personal regret that only seems big when she's with family.

"It would have been nice to have real guests instead of the justice of peace's cat as a witness."

He grimaces, remembering how the feline had scratched him in the middle of the ten-minute ceremony.

"It would have been nice to have a real honeymoon," he observes wistfully.

She smiles slyly.

"As far as I can recall," she murmurs, "you need about three hundred people for a conventional wedding, but only _two_ people for a conventional honeymoon."

"I really, really, _really_ like how you think."

When they try a proper kiss, however, Takeru protests loudly, ordering them to either get a room or save it for the desert course. This of course incites another round of loud friendly banter, until a final, inevitable silence settles in between two of the main courses. They look at one another, thinking, remembering the good times and the bad, the hard times and easy ones, and finally coming to the conclusion that none of it could have been done without each other.

Waiting for the new dishes, each friend glances around the table, meeting each gaze and smiling, until one giggle escapes and then two, one hilarious moment is brought up and then followed by another memory, and finally they are all laughing talking loudly and carrying on, enjoying the food and the atmosphere and the well-decorated restaurant here in downtown Tokyo…

…until the manager recognizes Mimi and Taichi promptly throws them all out.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Don't ask me for a sequel because that will tempt me and I know I shouldn't. Truthfully, I would like to write more, but I think this is a good ending place for both parts of the story, and I can't really think of anything else, so…. That's it! Thanks for all your support and reviews. It's been amazing, and I appreciate it. Happy writing.

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End file.
